Almost
by Lady-Ithil
Summary: Chapter 4 in its entirety: Estella discovers how sadistic Wesker really is. Rebecca and Billy come upon a horrifying discovery, Gracelynn prepares for the big night, and Leon recieves a mysterious message. The day of the ball draws nearer...
1. Prologue

_Riiing! Riiing!_

There were, for some reason, pills in her hand. A plastic cup of water occupied the other. An empty medication bottle sat on the desk nearby, devoid of nearly half a month's worth of strong sleeping pills. The small plastic container sat among piles of paper and envelopes. The bottle was the only thing solid and whole in the mess of crumpled letters and pages, the only thing that seemed real in the clutter of ripped and spilled-upon paper. Yes, the plastic bottle was there, structure and soundness among insanity similar to the medicine once held inside. But just like the pills, the container was transparent, only providing so much soundness in the madness that was her life. Within the continuous whir of awful memories and dreams, the medication provided sanity, but only in short bursts. Peace, for her, was nothing that really lasted.

_Riiing!_

The telephone blared again, insistent and almost frantic, as though the machine had seen what she was about to do and was trying to stop her.

_That's wrong,_ she thought. _I wasn't going to do anything._ But the pills cupped in her palm spoke otherwise.

_Riiing! Riiing!_

"Damn phone," she muttered in a shaky, hoarse voice that didn't quite seem to be hers. "Always interrupting when I'm trying to do... some..." she trailed off as she stared at the phone through dull hazel eyes that were then drawn back to the pills. They weren't just sleeping pills, she realized. Among the little blue capsules were white tablets of an over-the-counter pain reliever, a large percentage of green-colored capsules which were a prescription for her headaches, and even a few large yellow pills. These were supposed to keep her mind "balanced," as the doctor had explained. All she knew for sure was that she hadn't taken them in a while. In all, there was approximately three weeks worth of medication in her hand.

_Just how many pills can one person swallow?_ she thought with a touch of grim humor. But her concentration had been broken, and she set down the water in order to reach for the phone. Her hand seemed to take forever to get there.

"Hello?" she said. She was unaware of how flat and utterly lifeless her voice sounded, so the word came out as more of a statement than a greeting.

"Oh thank God... it's Jared; Ella told me she was worried about you, she's almost hysterical, she's with me now," the man on the other end spoke rapidly, not even pausing for breath. His voice seemed to spark something in her mind which triggered her stomach to do a flip once out of what seemed to be... guilt, of all things!

"—but I thought since you didn't answer right away, and you—"

"I'm fine." The words automatically left her mouth, though she hadn't thought to say them. He went silent, and she could almost feel his shock through the phone.

"You're... fine? We found your letter, for Christ's sake!"

"Letter? There must be some mistake." More words that simply poured from her mouth.

"There is no fucking _mistake!_" He was getting angry, and she could hear crying in the background. His tone—one she had never heard from him before—frightened her, and her stomach churned again. She could feel something, a strange sensation reminiscent of water beginning to trickle over the top of a dam, deep inside her mind.

"Now tell me what the hell is wrong with you! I'm sick being lied to! We want to help you, damn it!"

There was a pause that seemed to fill eternity. This was a moment she would always remember: the moment before the emotional flood finally spilled forth; the moment she finally cracked and let herself go to someone for the first time since that day two years ago... the day she had lost her family and everything else that mattered to her as her entire city turned to hell. She was not the only one, though others with similar experiences were few and far between. As a survivor of Raccoon City, she would carry the weight of a greedy company's mistake on her shoulders for the rest of her life. She was silent as everything came back to her. Every detail that she had tried so hard to repress—through therapy, through drugs, and through plain stubbornness—fought to the top of her confused, battered mind and let itself out.

On the other end of the line, Jared was nauseous with worry. This phone conversation was the worst in his life, and one he wouldn't forget. He thought she had actually gone through with her plan to take her own life, as detailed in a letter she would never remember writing.

"...Please," he whispered. "Please, still be there... I love you." He moaned the last bit of his sentence softly, sure that she was gone. Beside him, Ella had gone silent, her skin pale and her green eyes wide, shining with tears waiting to be spilled.

There was a small whimper, barely audible. But the sound soon grew into a mournful, choked sob.

"Jared, please, help me," she cried. "I'm so scared; I don't know what to do anymore... can't handle it... I... want..." Her sentence was broken by her gasping sobs.

Jared let out a deep breath, unaware of the tears which ran hot down his cheeks. "I'm coming over there. I'll be up in five minutes, don't you go anywhere, don't do... don't do anything... I'm coming!" he was shouting these last words even as he left the phone sitting on the bed. Ella picked up the receiver and listened, as if she was not ready to believe her friend was still on the other side. As soon as she was sure of this, she began to mutter soothing phrases into the phone, comforting both herself and the other girl at the same time.

In the tiny apartment on 26th Street, the girl sank to the floor. The pills fell around her, tapping quietly on the linoleum tiles. The phone dropped into her lap, and she cried.

At 6:53 P.M., Eastern Time, Gracelynn Rachel Boudette, age eighteen, was admitted to St. Mary's Clinic by her friend Jared Danellson.


	2. Changes

March 18th, 2005

Rebecca Chambers tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear with a sigh. The paper she was attempting to write wasn't exactly hard, just tedious. Her gray eyes roamed over the screen of her laptop, searching for mistakes the spell check tool might have missed.

"Huh." She uttered a small, distasteful grunt as she realized that she had accidentally spelled her own name wrong. Not to mention there was a "to" where there should have been a "too," as well as several "an's" where there should have been "and's." She corrected these, then sighed again as she realized this was only the first page of her report. For someone who had been so smart as a child, such small mistakes were a bit of an embarrassment, even if no one was around to see.

Being a child prodigy had not been easy. She was already in the seventh grade by age nine. Shy and for the most part friendless, she was ignored by the older children—who were secretly jealous of her, as she did better in class than any of them—and laughed at by the younger; those of her own age group did not bother to hide their jealousy. Rebecca was also very small for her age, barely four feet tall, and was thus an easy target for bullies. Often she went home in tears with books wet from being dropped in puddles, her clothes torn by mean little hands. Her family was not rich, otherwise they would have gladly sent her to a private school for children such as herself in the hopes that she might make a few friends. She continually wondered why she was picked on for simply being smart, but her stubbornness demanded that she did not quit. She also knew how much her education meant to her parents, who loved her as best they could.

Rebecca had a brother fifteen years her elder. He was by no means a genius, but had enough common sense and strength of mind to make it in the Marines. She remembered, vaguely, being a flower girl at his wedding when she was seven. He stayed at home for a while after that and within a year, he and his wife had a set of twins. Those were happy times: she had first started moving up in school and the bullying hadn't begun yet, the whole family was at home, and two beautiful new baby boys created a constant state of happy chaos. But all too soon, her brother was sent away.

The night they received the news he had been captured was one she wished she could forget. For the next two weeks her family maintained nearly hourly contact with various government officials. Then, one day, it all stopped as abruptly as it began. Her mother walked into the kitchen to find her daughter-in-law hanging up the phone, one twin balanced on her hip. She turned, face devoid of any readable emotion, and then fainted. Rebecca's mother literally had to dive to catch the baby.

There was a funeral, which Rebecca remembered little of aside from her own miserable confusion and the crying of everyone as her sister-in-law, widowed at the age of twenty-two, received the American flag. Things had simply gone downhill after that.

Her sister-in-law, Cathi, decided to stay with them "for a little while longer." They soon learned that she was pregnant again. It was a mixed blessing. The family had enough to worry about already with the extra two children, Kaleb and Ryan. Now there was to be _another?_ Their home had only three rooms, but they made due. Anyone could see Cathi wasn't ready to be on her own yet... especially with another child on the way. Rebecca's mother took an extra job to help support them all, which kept her away most of the time and made her irritable when she was home.

It was around this, the most inopportune of times, that Rebecca's problems escalated. At school her quietness and lack of response normally discouraged most taunts. She kept to herself and everyone left her alone, it was as simple as that. So she stayed away from them, diving deeper into her studies. One day, however, she was surprised to find an older boy standing in front of her locker as she went to get her things after school.

What followed was the beginning of a humiliating series of events: he called her names, and when she didn't answer, he pushed her. But he miscalculated how light her tiny body was—she tumbled down a small flight of stairs like a rag doll thrown by a child having a tantrum and into the side of a garbage can, causing it to spill all over her. By the time she regained her bearings and had gotten the worst of the rubbish off of her clothes, the boy had left. She went on her tearful way home, rubbing her sore head and thankful at least that she had not cried in his presence. Incidents such as these became more common, and while they worried her parents, there was little they could do aside from contact her teachers and comfort her.

By the time she went off to college at the age of fourteen, her mother was all but removed from her life. She had fought to the top of her company and eventually quit her second job, though the demands of her new position often kept her away from home. Her father was a silent, bitter man. Cathi lived with them permanently—along with Kaleb, Ryan, and Fae, her third child. Rebecca spent much of her time with her extended family; at times she felt she knew her sister-in-law better than her mother, and her nephews and niece were like siblings. When the time came for her to choose her career, her whole family watched eagerly. Her parents seemed to expect that she would be some sort of rocket scientist or brain surgeon, and Cathi was convinced she would make a good professor. No matter how you put it, no one expected—or wanted—her to take a dangerous job.

So everyone was surprised when she announced her career choice: police officer.

Rebecca majored in police science and chemistry, studied anatomy and biology, and dabbled in medical practice. And so she gave her family yet another shock when she announced that she would be accepting the position of "field medic" for Raccoon City's S.T.A.R.S. Instead of working in a lab as they'd assumed she would, solving cases using minute traces of evidence and seeing little more than other white-coated forensic scientists, little Rebecca Chambers would be out in the field, an officer of the law.

She had always been interested in being a doctor of some sort, but felt she needed something... more. So she decided to pick up where her brother left off—in a way, at least, by protecting the people of Raccoon City. And sure enough, S.T.A.R.S. was looking to hire. She had been recommended by a chemistry professor who was friends with a S.T.A.R.S. officer, and within a year of graduating college, she had her badge. It had all been easier than she would have dreamed, and at first she was so eager and ecstatic...

After the mansion incident, however, she decided that being a doctor was more than enough excitement for her. She was impatient for her life to return to normal, but a good friend had pointed out it might never be so. Contacting her family might be dangerous, Chris Redfield told her. She might never be able to talk to them again if she wished them to be safe, for Umbrella might go after them to get at her. Once she returned to the U.S. after almost two years of hiding, she moved to Minnesota with the intent of studying medicine in one of the state's universities. She had very little therapy while out of the States, but came out none the worse for it. Her stubborn mind needed little help telling her that things would be alright now: she had done all she could, and her complete absence would be better for her family in the end no matter how much it hurt her. Life resembled something ordinary once again... even though she still woke up screaming once in a while.

So, here she was: sitting in a small café, laptop in front of her and paper waiting to be written. This was to be one of her final projects before she finished that particular course. She planned to practice medicine in other countries, specifically poorer ones where people needed medical attention but did not receive any. However, for now the essay would have to wait. Her mind was wandering, and she was bored with writing.

Rebecca sighed and tipped her head back, stretching her neck. A quick check of her watch told her she still had ten minutes before she needed to leave, so she decided to check her e-mail.

It was at that moment, as she closed out of Word Processor, she felt it. Something that was so eerily familiar, so much like déja vu, that the sensation sent shivers up her spine. Her mind searched frantically to place this feeling before she came up with an answer.

Eyes. On the back of her neck, but not just there. They roamed slightly, taking in her slender frame, darting over her shoulders, searching out her lower back and rising to rest again on her neck. She suddenly felt so... _exposed_ in the light blue tank top she wore that clung effortlessly to her petite form.

_But I _know_ that feeling! I know it..._

And suddenly, another realization hit her.

_The train! That night on the train! I was picking up a key from the dead man's body, there was so much blood... and I turned, and..._

She began to turn slowly, seeing him out of the corner of her eye before she was even allowed to finish her movement.

_...and there was Billy._

She half expected—no, fully expected—him to be standing behind her, gun in hand. But of course, no one was holding a gun to her. However, three tables back, sat a man. He sported a nondescript black tee-shirt with a washed out denim jacket over, his somewhat unkempt chin-length hair hanging about his face. He also wore dark sunglasses, which he now pulled down on the bridge of his nose so that he might study her over them. She had no chance to even finish turning in her chair, though, because at that moment her thoughts were shattered as a friend burst through the door and yelled her name.

"Becca Coen!"

She had changed more than just her career upon her return to the United States. At her request, Chris had gotten her a new I.D.

"_I've got connections,"_ he'd said with a wink. He hadn't inquired as to her choice of name.

She looked up, startled and blushing. "Hey, Liz."

"You didn't bother to return my phone call. Thanks," the tall blonde said, mustering a frown. She didn't seem to notice Rebecca's flustered mien. "Come on; let's go get some lunch with Sandy and Belle. Belle said she would bring Ted, and you know how much fun he is."

"You just like to stare at his ass," Rebecca muttered, with a small smile of her own.

"Whatever! Now come on, unless you're already waiting for someone here or something."

"No..." Rebecca said absently as she gathered up her things and shoved them into her shoulder bag. Liz started out the door, obviously impatient. But Rebecca lingered a moment after her computer was securely tucked into her bag. The man was still watching her. She could see his eyes over the dark glasses: the deepest blue, burning hard and cold as ice under a winter moon; and yet, somehow, there was so much more behind their callous, uncaring surface...

"Becca! Come _on_!" She shook her head to clear the cluttered thoughts and ran out the door after her friend, carefully making sure not to take a second glance back.

_No. That part of my life is over.

* * *

_

_Holy shit._ That had been his first thought._ It can't be her._

She looked a bit different, of course. Her hair was a little longer, and so didn't look quite as boyish anymore—but that didn't change the fact that the girl sitting in front of the laptop had been Rebecca. A moment after he'd noticed her she turned around, and he was almost one hundred percent sure of it.

But the clincher was her name: Becca Coen. He knew that it made sense for her to change her identity. If she had been worried about Umbrella eventually coming back to destroy all evidence, it would have been required. He had done the same because of his record, hooking up with a man he knew in Mexico who was just good at taking care of that sort of thing. But she had chosen _his _name. Suddenly, his mind was a hurricane whirling with emotions and memories and feelings that made him thoroughly uncomfortable.

Standing, he put some cash on the table for a tip before paying for his coffee at the counter. Hands in pockets, he then walked out into the pleasantly bright afternoon sunshine, looking both ways down the sidewalk before spotting the blonde and brunette heads he searched for bobbing away among the crowd. Billy turned and began to follow them.

* * *

Next Chapter: Leon Kennedy... a girl named Gracelynn... a lost kitten... a letter with too much truth to it. Chance meetings and bad omens. 


	3. Chance

March 24th, 2005

"...What?"

For some unexplained reason, there was a kitten rubbing itself on his ankles. Perplexed, Leon knelt and reached out to the feline with the intention of reading the tag upon its blue collar. The little animal made a playful swat at his fingers, leaving a deep scratch. Blood began to well along the injury and he withdrew his hand in surprise. The cat meowed good-naturedly and drew close to his ankles once again, purring with the volume of a lawnmower. He reached down for the second time—but he had learned his lesson. Now he held the diminutive creature's forepaws down so that he might have a second to examine the tiny writing upon the tag.

Bump

555-1624

414 Aldrid St.

ask for Lynn

The kitten was carried into the house, his newspaper left on the stoop. He attempted to dial the phone number with one hand and hold the animal in the other, but the purring ball of black and gray fuzz proved quite hard to handle and he was eventually forced to set it down, though not before suffering several more scratches.

One ring...

Two rings...

He gave a sigh as the answering machine picked up after the fifth ring.

"Hey, it's Lynn. Sorry, but I'm not here now. Leave me a message; I'll get back to you." There was a beep, and so he began to speak.

"Hey... I think I found your... uh... cat, and—NO! Don't touch that!" he shouted as he noticed the kitten reaching for a plate precariously balanced atop an end table. But he was too late; the plate fell on top of the startled feline, who bounded away and gave a tiny hiss in response. "Damn it!" he swore as he quickly placed the phone back into the cradle. As he approached the kitten bolted to hide under the couch.

The damage wasn't awful; the plate hadn't broken but there was now leftover spaghetti—his previous night's dinner—all over the white carpet of his living room. With a sigh and a few muttered obscenities, he went for a paper towel to clean the mess as best he could. The noodles were relatively easy, but the sauce...

_It's going to have to wait. Right now I have to find a place where that _thing_ won't be able to ruin the house until she comes to pick it up,_ he thought. But there was a problem, he realized. He hadn't left her his number. Not even his name. He mentally kicked himself as the fact dawned on him that he had, in effect, hung up on her—a girl he didn't even know who was probably, after hearing his message, worried sick that her cat had found its way to some psycho ailurophobe's house.

"I guess I'll just bring you over there," he said with a sigh to the kitten, now chewing the corner of a pillow on his couch. He grabbed a black sweatshirt from a nearby recliner and pulled it over his head. This would have to do for the still-chilly spring weather; he hadn't yet found a suitable replacement for the brown leather jacket he'd lost in Europe the previous fall.

He found the ordeal that followed rather trying. For a man who had killed countless monsters intent on ending his life violently, catching a kitten proved an exhausting task. Man looked at Cat, sitting oh-so-innocently on the sofa. Cat looked back to Man, blinking and giving a twitch of its tail. There was a moment of still silence before Man advanced, though as soon as he moved, Cat raced off, bouncing from couch to end table and atop the bookcase in a matter of seconds. But Cat was still young, and its next leap took it straight into a lamp. Man followed, attempting to catch the light but failing as the feline ran through the spaghetti sauce on the floor and down the hallway into the bathroom.

At last the cat was bagged, so to speak—or at least boxed. Leon poked a few air holes in a shoebox sitting near his bed and used the container for a makeshift cat-carrier. However, his living room ended up even more cluttered: spaghetti sauce paw prints adorned the carpet and his standing lamp lay on the floor. The kitten had also attempted to climb the shower curtain to escape him, shredding the thin cloth with its claws. But he had managed to corner her and the cat was put in the box, which was taped firmly shut, and he was able to leave.

The morning was crisp and cool, and a fresh breeze lifted the dark blond hair from his forehead as he started down the steps with a box of subdued cat under his arm. Despite the fact that his apartment was a mess and he would most likely have to answer for the new stains on the floor, he was in the best mood he had been in all week. He was getting used to the idea of being home, even if there were certain limitations.

_Home_, he mused. That was a word he was still getting used to saying. He had, of course, always had a home; however after leaving at the age of eighteen nothing ever seemed to go right. He was always either enrolled in some sort of grueling, months-long training, being chased around by monsters, or playing agent for the government, and rarely had a chance to sleep in his own bed.

And of course, after Raccoon City his life hadn't quite been _normal_ again, but that was to be expected. There had been his second trial by fire in Europe. Fresh out of a special training course, off to Spain, save the President's daughter, play host to a disgusting parasite for a day or two... he hadn't expected anyone to be sympathetic with him; after all, he was dealing with the government now. And indeed, at first they had grilled him—relentlessly—calling the interviews in an empty room under a single bright light "therapy." But as far as he could tell, he had nothing to hide... except, of course, his connection to Ada. And the fact that she was alive. And Krauser's mention of Umbrella. That was what disturbed him most of all about the ordeal; those two lines uttered by his former comrade.

"_All for Umbrella's sake..."_

"_Umbrella!"_

"_Oops, almost let it slip..."_

But dwelling on this got him nowhere. He had told the President's men what they wanted to hear, and the President let him off for a few months. In fact, he had actually given Leon the news himself. He had plenty of agents, he said. It had been a trying ordeal, obviously; though there wasn't anyone quite as good as he for the job of guarding Ashley, he could go home for a few months and collect himself. Ashley was thankful. He was thankful. You had done your country good. Now get your ass on home and pull it together for when we really need you, cause we don't need an agent with a fucked up mind.

Well, the President hadn't actually said the last part. But that was the distinct feeling given off. Of course there were restrictions; they didn't want him leaking government information to anyone. He was pretty sure his phone lines were bugged, and some fellow agents had installed a camera near his front door, which freaked him out to no end. There was also the bracelet.

Around his ankle was a silver chain with a strange clasp. Inside the chunky closure was a tiny computer chip. He had no idea how the whole setup worked, aside from the fact that the jewelry monitored his movements just like the less-discrete versions given to some felons in lieu of jail time. He was allowed to leave his home, but if he went anywhere considered suspicious by his betters he would find himself on the ground with a gun to his head faster than he would care to think. But this was unfortunately easy to believe—he wasn't blind or stupid. To his trained eyes the agents posted in several areas in the immediate vicinity of his home, as well as the ones that followed him everywhere from a block or so behind screamed obvious.

"_Cut that thing off and we'll send a squad of armed men to your house. And they won't care who gets in their way," _the man who fitted the bracelet on him had said. However, his situation wasn't so bad as long as he followed the rules. He was slowly regaining his composure as the days went by—and he hadn't even realized at first how much the whole mission had disturbed him. He figured that out when "the dream" began itself anew, but with several new characters.

In this nightmare he had been having since escaping Raccoon City, he and Claire Redfield were racing through the streets of the ruined town together, Sherry having been lost somewhere along the way. But they were being followed by _something_. A monster that was unlike any other they had seen thus far...

_And there was the door! A door of wood, held together by rusted nails and bits of metal; looking as though the whole thing would fall from the frame if touched. There was a keyhole, but no knob. And he had the key. So he went to the door, knowing fully well that it led out of the city. Claire was right behind him, she had been the whole way... but he didn't hear her anymore. So he turned around. _

_Claire was there, standing several yards away. Staring... just staring at him. He yelled, "Claire! What are you doing? This is the door, let's go!" And she would shake her head, her blue eyes wide in dread as she began to back slowly away, slowly towards whatever was coming for them._

_He looked down at his shaking hands, only to notice something. They were a sort of pale color, much paler than was normal. The veins stuck out grotesquely, a sickly black color. And they itched. God, they itched. So he began to scratch them, realizing suddenly that his whole body itched burningly. But as he scratched, the skin began to peel away in chunks, exposing the dead veins and sickly red muscle beneath. Thick blood oozed slowly from the wounds, drying almost as soon as the air hit the red liquid. He was one of _them_, and Claire knew._

"_Claire! No! I'll be fine, just come on..." he took a lurching step forward, reaching to her, but she screamed and backed away. The monster was closer; both of them could see the shadow upon the walls as the fiend came nearer to the small alley. Torn, Claire looked from Leon to the approaching shadowy menace before taking a tentative step forward. She let him take her by the wrist. He could feel the warmth in her flesh underneath his deathly cold fingers. He could feel the pulse that beat a rapid flutter against the smooth skin of her wrist. Could hear her shallow breaths... the frightened gasp as he took her arm and attempted to pull her along. Could see the sheer terror in her eyes. And suddenly, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her. It began as just a tiny trickle of a thought across his mind before becoming a full-fledged roar. He had to try. Had to have her. Not to hurt her, just to make the feeling go away, that odd pain in his stomach that somehow had moved up to his head as well._

_The alley was small, and he didn't have to move much to pin her to the wall by both wrists._

"_Leon! What are you doing? Let... me... go!" She kicked him—hard—in the groin, and under normal circumstances he would have dropped to the ground screaming. But he felt nothing aside from the pain in his stomach and head. That feeling was smoldering into his mind, making him crazy..._

_Claire let out a scream and tried to push his body away, but to no avail. He leaned slowly forward as if to kiss her, fleetingly hesitant, however as soon as he could smell her fear he was gone. He sank his teeth into her neck just below the ear, causing her to cry out in pain. The taste of blood excited him, instantly alleviating some of the pain in his head. He needed to fix his stomach now. So he repositioned his mouth just below her chin, where there was more flesh, and bit down hard._

_Blood sprayed into his face, getting in his eyes and making his hair stick to his forehead. Claire let out a noise that was a cross between a frantic cry and the sound made when someone blows bubbles through a drinking straw. Messy, for sure, but he didn't care. He continued biting, tearing away tender strips of flesh as she began to bleed to death._

_Finally. The pains were gone. He felt normal again, though by glancing at his rotting arms he knew he was not better yet. But Claire was still standing against the wall. He figured she was alright, maybe just shocked. He couldn't quite remember just how hard he had bitten her._

"_Claire! Let's go." He started for the door. But she did not move, and he turned in time to see her slump to the ground. Her eyes were open, shining with tears and pain unimaginable. Only then did he realize what exactly had happened. "Oh Claire... oh God..."_

_He went to her and knelt at her side. Blood still spurted from her broken jugular in weak trickles, and her eyes roamed back and forth hysterically as her mouth worked to form words that came out as no more than sickening bubbles of blood._

"_Claire..." he attempted to push a strand of her hair from her forehead in an apologetic gesture, but she batted his hand away weakly._

"_...trusted you..." she mouthed. With this her eyes closed._

_The full force of the situation hit him like a slap across the face. She had trusted him. He had killed her. What was more, he was a zombie and if he made it through that door, he would not be able to go far before being shot. He had to try though, and he would be damned if he left Claire behind. So he lifted her up, cradling the dead girl in his arms. She was limp and he was weakening quickly, making her dead weight nearly impossible to hold up. He couldn't bear to look at the damage he had done: her throat hung open in ragged, bloody flaps. She was very obviously dead; he was doubtful that with that much blood loss even the virus could bring her back. But he still had to get to that door, it was so close..._

Normally, this was the end of the dream. He woke up, screaming and sweating, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wouldn't sleep for the rest of the night, and would be tired and ornery the next day. However, after he had returned from his little expedition to Spain, the dream had changed.

"_Leon!" his name was being called from down the alley. He instantly recognized the voice; the accent was a dead giveaway. Slowly, painfully, still with Claire's body held tight to his chest, he turned._

_Luis staggered down the alley, using the wall to his right to support himself. His vest and shirt were open, exposing the horrid wound that had ended his life. Although, he sounded excited, and gave a small smile._

"_I've got it! I..." he paused, and then grimaced as he realized what Leon held. "Leon... I don't understand..." At that moment, Saddler strode around the corner and, using a knife that Leon easily recognized as Krauser's, stabbed the Spaniard in the back. The evil cultist turned and abruptly left, though his laughter filled the alleyway, bouncing off the walls and sending pounding waves of pain through Leon's mind long after he was gone. Luis sank to his knees._

"_And now you're going to let me die... again..." the man said with a mocking smile before falling face-forward. Leon could only stare in shock._

This new nightmare posed quite a problem for a few weeks. However, part of the criteria he had to meet for simply being at home was seeing a certain psychologist. She was a pleasant woman, very intelligent, and after a week of seeing her, the nightmare came less frequently. He was sure that she was working for the government and that everything he said was being carefully reported, but this was alright with him. He was embarrassed; he thought he had gotten over everything long ago and would be able to handle anything now. But at least his sessions meant that for a few hours a week he wouldn't feel so lonely.

The box he held had thus far been quiet, and now a sudden movement from inside jolted him from his thoughts. He realized he was on Aldrid Street already. Apartments lined both sides of the road, and he noticed this area was much like his own. The distance between his street and this one wasn't too great, which was most likely why the kitten had been able to make its own way over. He began to scan the addresses, looking for 414.

At last! A three-story apartment that looked a bit old, but well-kept. 414 was on the second floor. The front door was bright green, which somehow clashed pleasantly with the deep red bricks around the doorframe. He went inside and climbed a flight of stairs, listening to the familiar muffled sounds of families eating breakfast, music, and televisions as he walked. The corridor he was now faced with had four doors before one arrived at another flight of stairs. 414 was the second on the right.

He could hear music from behind the door, and thus knocked loudly to compensate. A male voice shouted something incoherent and after the music ceased the door was opened to reveal a man, tall and slender though not abnormally so, with dark blue eyes and short red hair. He wore a plain green tee-shirt with faded blue jeans, and looked Leon over for a minute before saying anything. A broad grin came to his face after noticing the box the agent held and the scratches on his hand.

"That cat must've got out again, right? Wait here, I'll go get Lynnie." He turned and shouted, "Gracelynn Boudette! Get your ass out here! Your cat's been ruining people's lives again!" He turned back to Leon. "Don't mind it, that thing gets out all the time. She's not supposed to even have it in here but no one seems to care."

A tall girl appeared, obviously having just gotten out of bed. She was wearing a giant sweatshirt over a pair of plaid shorts; her short, curly brown hair was sticking up oddly all over her head. Under a pair of small, square-framed glasses her brown-green eyes grew wide and she blushed with embarrassment at having been caught in such a state. She moved quickly to the door and took the box from him.

"Thanks... sorry. I'll make sure she doesn't get out again," she said quickly, kneeling to pick the tape off of one side of the lid. The kitten bounced out, obviously happy to be home, and into her waiting arms. She jumped from the girl's arms to her shoulder and began nuzzling her face. The girl, giggling, stood up.

"Bump, you need to stop being silly. Stay in the house," she said, giving the cat a quick pat on the head. The animal then leapt to the floor and dashed away into the hall the girl had emerged from. "Thanks," she said again. "I hope she wasn't too much trouble—oh no!" she said with a small gasp. "Look what she did to your hand!"

"Huh? Oh, that's nothing, I'll be fine."

"No, no, I'm so sorry. Let me at least get you a Band-Aid." With that she whisked away down the hall, reappearing a moment later with a wrapped bandage, which she deftly unwrapped before sticking it on his hand. "There," she said with a smile. "You're not going to sue me or anything, right?" He smiled back and shook his head.

"Name's Leon," he said, extending his hand. "Leon Kennedy. I live nearby." She took his hand and gave a quick shake.

"Lynn Boudette," she said, a slight dash of color still lighting up her cheeks. They stood for a moment, staring at each other, before she let his hand go. "Well, I don't want to keep you all day. Thanks for my cat. And it was nice to meet you."

"You too. Maybe I'll see you around again."

"Yeah," she said with a smile.

"Well, see you later." She gave him a small wave as he walked away, smiling slightly to himself. Lynn was kind of cute, he mused, as he walked down the short hallway. She looked a little like Ingrid Hunnigan, with nearly the same color hair and deep olive skin. She even had glasses, though hers made her look young and a bit artsy, whereas Ingrid's made her look professional. And then the way she had appeared at the door, disheveled and flustered, especially after catching sight of him... he shook his head. Cute... and there was a man in the house with her. And now he was going to go home and clean. Maybe he would see her again. Maybe, but most likely not.

* * *

Lynn stood in the door for a while, watching the man walk down the hall, before her friend said anything. 

"You are _so_ staring at his ass!"

"Erik!" she said, jumping at the sound of his voice. She slammed the door shut. "I was not!"

"It's okay, if you weren't hogging the door I'd be staring too. He probably has a nice ass. And the rest of him is really hot. I checked," Erik said, turning to go back to his breakfast. Lynn rolled her eyes at him.

"Sometimes I think you're too gay to function." This earned her a pillow, thrown from the couch. She laughed and threw the pillow back. "Yeah, I was staring at his ass," she said as she headed back to her bedroom.

"I knew it!"

"I love you too, Erik!" she called from her room. "I'm going to get in the shower. Don't bother me. And can you go grab the mail? It's like, eleven-thirty. Should be here."

"Sure," Erik said, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

* * *

Becca Coen was going down the stairs of her dormitory at a leisurely pace. She was headed for the first floor to check her mail. The morning was still relatively early, and the day thus far was pleasantly sunny but cool, although rain was in the forecast later on. She planned to sit outside and soak up the sun as long as possible before the showers began, during which she wanted to continue her class paper. 

"Let's see," she said with a sigh as she opened her box. "Bill, bill, junk, ad, bill... huh? What are these?" There was something unusual about the two envelopes she was now studying. One was made of heavy paper, gold in color, with an official-looking wax seal. The handwriting on the front was far too fancy to read easily, full of unnecessary loops and swirls. The other puzzling envelope was plain, completely blank save one word written on the front: Becca. Someone had obviously placed that one in there themselves. Shoving the bills and junk back into the box for later, she headed out the front door to sit on a bench in the sunshine and read her mail.

She first opened the fancy envelope, carefully sliding her finger under the seal to break it. The paper inside was obviously just as expensive as the envelope had been: thick and white, with gold trim and a monogram on the top of the letter "C." The letter was handwritten in dark blue ink, but impossible to simply skim due to the fact that the writing was nearly the same as that on the outside of the envelope.

But something in the first line caught her eye and made her feel as though her stomach had fallen out and been replaced by a cold chunk of metal.

"Dear Miss Chambers," the letter read. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

_It's alright... no it's not... how did they know? Who wrote this? How did they find me? _Thoughts raced through her head faster than she could process them, and she put a hand to her forehead. She was very cold; the hand was unsteady. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before reading the rest of the letter.

_Dear Miss Chambers, _

_You are cordially invited to attend the twenty-fifth annual charity ball at the home of Mr. Jonathon P. Chayliss, president of Chayliss&Rathers Industries, leading supplier of medical equipment to hospitals around the world. You have shown interest in the field of medicine, and we believe it would be beneficial for you to meet some of the leading men and women of the occupation. _

_The event is free, but donations are given to Mr. Chayliss's charity, which benefits the development of medical programs in less fortunate countries. Donations can be given by attendees in the form of checks made out to ChaylissCharity. However, the major donations come from other, similar companies who make bets upon how many will attend. This annual event is a wonderful way to meet aspiring doctors and stir up friendly rivalry between fellow companies._

_By attending this event, Miss Chambers, you will not only be helping our company but yourself and the world as well. Background checks have shown that you posses an interest in third-world medical developments and that you spent time working as a field medic for a specialized police force and are currently studying medicine at a highly accredited university. This is an impressive résumé and we look forward to seeing you on the night of April 17th, 2005 at 6 o'clock sharp. A first-class, two-way plane ticket to Maryland will be booked in your name and sent to you within two days of your scheduled departure, and a limousine will be waiting to pick you up upon arrival the day before the ball. A hotel room for the night of your arrival will also be reserved in your name, though you will only spend one night there. The event itself is in Mr. Chayliss's private mansion, (limousine transportation to the event will be provided) and you will spend the night of the ball there in one of his many lavish rooms before leaving the next day. _

_Remember, this occasion is extremely formal and should be dressed for accordingly. Mr. Chayliss will be very disappointed if you do not attend—but we expect a complete turnout; he has many connections and is sure he can convince even the most stubborn to grace us with their presence. Your cooperation will be appreciated. _

_Sincerely, Allen Grenholm _

_(Secretary and Personal Assistant to J.P. Chayliss) _

_R.S.V.P. (833) 555-1101 no later than April 1st of 2005. Action will be taken to contact you if your prompt response is not received. Present this invitation at the door for admission._

She took another deep breath. Obviously whoever wrote the letter was serious. And background checks... she shuddered at the thought. This was no hoax. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she put a hand to her mouth. What if they knew? What if this Chayliss man, whoever he was, knew where her family was? But... what if there was no reason to be worried; her background information simply wasn't as secure as Chris had told her he made it? Well, that much was obvious, at least. Somehow they had found her out, no matter how well her fellow S.T.A.R.S. member claimed to have covered her tracks. So maybe they were honest. But still, something was not right. A feeling stood out in the back of her mind, like the dim _ping_ of radar that had honed in on something still unclear but certainly there at the same time. She had a week to think things over, at least.

Rebecca took a moment to calm herself by gently massaging the back of her neck before putting the letter neatly away in the envelope. Besides, there was still the other note sitting in her lap, so plain compared to the one she had just read. Nonetheless, she opened it.

Her chills began anew as she read the paper's contents. Would the day's wonders never cease?

_Rebecca- meet me in the basement café of the student center at 10:30._

A single line, written in a man's rough handwriting. Not signed at all. She looked at her watch: 10:17. Just enough time to make her way over and meet...

Who? Just who was she expecting to be sitting there in the darkened corner of the basement eatery? The Blue Eye was a popular meeting spot for the stereotypical poet types of the school, but she knew the writer of the note would be none of them. She let her thoughts drift back to last week and the flash of blue eyes, the feeling of being watched...

Why did these things always happen to her? She let out an exasperated sigh and started on her way. She might as well face him. There was no going back once she had, however, and the wickedly realistic side of her consciousness gleefully reminded her of all the memories this meeting would bring back.

The walk to the brick building that was the Student Service Center seemed to take an eternity. Clouds were already beginning to envelop the sky, but she took no notice as she pushed the red door open and stepped inside. The stairs were to her left, and as she descended them every noise seemed to fade away until all she could hear was her own rough breathing and pounding heart. She checked her watch again: 10:32. Eyes the color of fog scanned the dim area, dreading and hoping at the same time—and there he was. A man was hunched over a table in the farthest corner, his back to her, though as she entered the room he threw a quick glance over his shoulder. She swallowed thickly and started across the relatively crowded space. No one seemed to pay her any notice, for which she was grateful.

"You can sit with me," he said as she approached his table. "I don't bite... much." So she took the seat across from him.

His appearance had changed little, though his brown hair was now long enough to be pulled back into a small ponytail, a few wayward strands hanging over his forehead. He wore a fitted, long-sleeved black shirt that seemed to hug the curves of his powerful arms and shoulders. Around his neck was a silver chain, though what was on its end she could not see, for he wore the necklace under his shirt. Seeing this made her feel as though the dog tag—_his _dog tag—she wore under her own clothes was burning, and she blushed. She reddened further as she realized he was studying her just as intently as she studied him.

"Miss me, doll face?" he crooned in that deep, cocky tone that was so distinctly his. Raspy and delightfully rough around the edges, just as she remembered. A smile slipped into place on his lips, though rather than smug, the expression seemed truly happy.

"You're died, remember Billy? I got over it," she replied. He let out a small chuckle.

"Nah. Name's Aaron Arnison. And I'm quite alive, as you can see for yourself, Miss Medic.

"Billy, I..."

_I what?_ she thought. There was a giant blank, and she found she had nothing to say, though such thoughts as _I've been thinking of you every day since you left, I've missed you so much that I wake up crying, I want you to know how safe I felt when you had my back, I really felt helpless without you and that's why I hated you so much at first, _all passed through her mind and were quickly rejected.

He was watching her closely again, his deep blue eyes full of concern.

"...I don't know if meeting like this is safe. I got a letter today. With my real name on it."

"Let me see." She pulled the letter out of her purse and handed it to him. He examined the envelope. "No return address," he commented before taking out the invitation and reading through it with surprising speed. Finally, he shook his head. "Something's not right about this. Don't go," he said simply.

"But I'm worried what they might do. Not for myself, though. I think that if they know my real name, there's no way they'd have a hard time finding my family." Billy paused for a moment, thinking.

"My advice is not to worry about it now. You have a week. I'll think of something in that time. Meanwhile, come back to this table around the same time tomorrow. I won't be here, but I'll leave another note." Rebecca nodded, and there was more silence between them.

"I have a question for you," Billy finally said, though what he was about to ask clearly made him somewhat uncomfortable. She knew what was coming and her mouth went dry. "Why... Rebecca, what made you choose my name? Why are you Becca Coen now?"

_Oh God, what do I say?_ she thought. Rather than answer, she merely stared at him before shaking her head. "I have to go. This is too risky." She got up from the table and began to leave.

"Becca!" he said in a harsh whisper, reaching for her arm. She was already too far out of reach for him to do any more than brush her fingertips with his own. The tiny bit of contact sent shivers racing up both of their spines. Then she was gone, rushing up the stairs. He watched her leave before turning back to the table and the letter she had left upon it. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he cupped his face in his hands for a moment before running them over his hair. This was going to take some effort, though he was sure she would show up for his note tomorrow. After all, one couldn't blame her for being careful.

Standing, Billy took the letter from the table and his denim jacket from the back of his chair and left.

* * *

Next Chapter: A grieving sister... the second meeting... the day of the ball draws nearer. Suspicions and hurt feelings. 


	4. Suspicions

March 30th, 2005

"Leon Kennedy?"

Thunder rolled, a sound ominous as death's drums and at least a hundred times as loud. Though the time couldn't have been later than 4:30 in the afternoon, outside the sky was nearly black as night. Not that he could tell the time anyways; the power to his apartment had gone out what felt like a full ten minutes ago. The microwave clock was blank and his watch was buried under the pile of clothes on his bedroom floor.

"You are Leon Kennedy?" He turned his attention fully to the shivering creature before him. Leon had been summoned to the door by an insistent knocking, barely audible over the storm, as he hunted for a flashlight in the gloomy dark that had consumed his kitchen.

"Yeah... why?" he asked, his easily-paranoid mind on edge at the fact that he had been caught unarmed and off guard.

"Please... I need to talk to you." She gave another body-crippling shiver, and he nodded, moving aside to let the soaking creature in. He felt bad for keeping her in the rain, but one couldn't blame him for being suspicious. After all, finding a woman on his doorstep in the middle of a thunderstorm wasn't a normal occurrence.

He pulled out a chair at his kitchen table so that she might sit. As soon as her body hit the wooden surface, she hunched over and made herself small as was physically possible; a shaking, frightened wisp of a girl.

"I'll be right back. I want to find a flashlight, then I'll grab you a towel," he said as he rummaged around the kitchen drawers until he located a flashlight. Pushing the button, he hefted the heavy black cylinder in his right hand, holding the light police-style as he made his way down the hall.

_God, this is some storm. I wonder what the hell brought her here in this kind of weather?_ he thought as lightening exploded in a sort of deadly fireworks show outside. The white-hot jolt of electricity illuminated his entire home for an instant, making shadows leap off the walls in a momentarily crazed, suicidal dive for the floor. The house shuddered in another gargantuan clash of thunder, and Leon could not help but jump.

He reached the bathroom and grabbed a large, clean towel. He started down the hall again before remembering what was in the closet: a lantern, the sort used for camping. So he went back down the corridor and into the bedroom, where he bumped his shin on the bed as he attempted to reach the closet. Growling a low curse, he took the lantern and a spare blanket before returning to the kitchen. The lantern he set on the end of the table, turning the light on before handing the girl the towel and blanket. She took them wordlessly, wrapping first the towel around her thin shoulders before the blanket. He took a seat across from her and a moment to truly study the young woman for the first time in the lantern's steady white light.

_Oh my God,_ he thought, stunned beyond belief. Here was a ghost come back to haunt him. The angle of the lantern light cast a sickly pallor upon her face, but everything was there: the high cheekbones, the black, wavy hair, and the intelligent, sad gray eyes. Only hers did not sparkle with a hint of mischief as his had; rather, they shone with terror and unshed tears.

She saw the way he studied her and shrank further into the blanket now draped about her pitiful frame. After a moment of silence in which she kept her eyes averted and he waited uncomfortably to see if she would say anything, she began to speak in broken, uncertain English. Leon had to lean in closer to hear her over the din outside. The storm seemed to laugh at them, daring the girl to speak, if she could, over the fever-pitch argument of the wind and thunder.

"My name is... Estella Sera. Luis was my brother. He... told to me about you. He say, 'If anything bad happen to me, go to Leon.' I have a cousin in America that help me to find you."

Even though he had already suspected she was some relation of his, the revelation still hit him like a shot to the chest. Leon suddenly felt that overwhelming guilt, like an animal gnawing at a corner of his sanity. He fought off the familiar thought of _I should have been able to save him_, his brain all the while fumbling for the right words to say to this girl whom had been dumped into his lap by the dead Spaniard.

"I'm sorry about your brother," he finally managed; his words hesitant and lame even to his own ears. "He was... a good man. I don't understand why he worked for Saddler." The sound of the name made her cringe. He could see her lips tremble slightly in the weird shadows cast by the lantern.

"Money," came the simple answer. "Saddler pay him very, very good. Luis was... very smart," she said, a small grin playing at the corner of her mouth. But that warm little smile quickly vanished, and she lowered her head. "I am eighteen now. Luis was twenty-eight. Our mother and father die in a car accident when I was eight. We have also a little sister, Carmen, she is eleven. Luis take care of us but could not go to school. He was wanting to be a scientist. But no, he stay to take care of us, his sisters."

Estella brushed a fond tear from her cheek before continuing. "Our father was police, and so he was police for a while, but that job keep him away from us too much. Dangerous, but not enough money. Because our parents not die right away after accident, they stay at hospital for some weeks in... ah..." Estella hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"A coma?" Leon offered. She nodded.

"We had owed hospital lot of money. No family near us to help. So when Luis get letter from man name Saddler, who offer to help pay bills if Luis work for him, we had been very happy."

She put her head in her hands and her shoulders began to shake. For a moment Leon thought she was crying, but she began to cough—a dreadful, wheezing hack that made him shudder. This went on for almost a minute.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked, concerned. She nodded as the last of her spasm subsided and she cleared her throat.

"I was sick last week."

"I guess standing in the rain didn't help. You were pretty wet, did you walk here or something?"

"Yes, from airport. Money I have is for hotel, none for bus." He gave her a look that was combination sympathy and shock.

"I would make you something warm to drink, but the microwave's out." She shook her head at the apologetic remark.

"I will be fine. Saddler—" she paused for a violent thunderclap. "Saddler pay hospital bill. Told Luis he had seen report of his test scores from school and knew he would be smart for the research Saddler was wanting to do. Knew Luis had been wanting to go to university for science. Send him books to study from. So Luis quit job as police and for six years he study hard to be scientist for Saddler. So when I was seventeen, Luis left. He call and write a lot at first, tell to us they research new things. And after he pay debt back to Saddler he was going to send us money. But then things go bad."

"Luis found out what they were really researching, didn't he?" Leon cut in. Estella nodded.

"He didn't tell me, at first. Said it was big secret. But I could see that it bothered him. Make him... angry. He say he would not tell me because I would not be proud of him." She let out a long sigh. "Two weeks before he die, I got package with note. Note say to open package only if he die. I was scared. Then, a week later, he send another note. Say he was in trouble and probably would not see us again. Told me if he did not write by end of the month, I should find you. Then five days later, man and woman come to door and tell me he is dead. I wait a month still and then finally open package. It had many of his private journal in it, and some research papers. Told... everything they were doing."

At this point she did begin to cry. He sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before reaching across the table to take one of her cold, trembling hands. But why had Luis sent her to him? For emotional support? He had little money to give her, if that was the case. Or maybe she was supposed to bring the package with her and Leon was supposed to use the evidence to bring Saddler down. After all, Luis hadn't had any way of knowing Leon would kill Saddler.

"I'm sorry. He did what was right in the end. He helped save me and the girl I had to rescue from becoming monsters like the people in the village... he was a good man."

The lights suddenly flickered to life around them, bathing the kitchen in artificial sunshine. Both of them jumped. Leon sighed. That meant the surveillance camera would be running again. He watched Estella dry her tears for a moment, obviously ashamed of herself. He had an idea.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I am going to go home, unless you..." Estella trailed off and paused, thinking for a moment. "Is there not something you can tell to me? My brother leave no message?" Leon shook his head gravely, and she sighed. "My brother was so smart, but sometimes I would wonder about him," she said, putting aside her disappointment to give a small, absolutely charming smile. She really was his sister, alright.

"Why don't you stay here for tonight? The nearest hotel is pretty far away and damn expensive." Estella took hardly a second to consider.

"I will. My plane will leave at ten tomorrow."

Leon returned her smile with one equally as charming. She would spend the night, free, in a safe place. He owed Luis that much, at least. "You can use my bed; I'll stay on the couch. Feel free to eat whatever you find, though it's been a while since I went shopping." He got up and started down the hallway, beckoning for her to follow.

"Is there a bathroom?" she asked.

"Uh huh," Leon said with a nod, gesturing to the appropriate door. He noticed for the first time that she carried a beat-up duffle bag. "You can shower or clean up, if you want to. I'm going to straighten up the bedroom." She nodded wordlessly before disappearing into the bathroom. A moment later, as he quickly grabbed clothes from the floor and tossed them into a hamper, he heard the shower run.

"Aha," he said, finding his missing watch under a dirty shirt and fastening the timepiece about his wrist. He finished by quickly changing the sheets and blanket upon the bed with a frown, as he wasn't entirely sure when he had last changed them. For the past few weeks he had been falling asleep on the couch every night. He smiled once the bed was made—the house would not be completely empty tonight, and that pleased him.

A knock sounded at the front door; the second of the day. He let out a puzzled grunt and made his way to the entrance of his home. Opening the door, he found two men standing under twin black umbrellas. The one on the right wore a long, black leather jacket; the other, a black trench coat. They reminded him of the private eyes in the old movies, and he smiled as he attempted to stifle a laugh.

"Mr. Kennedy?" the man in the leather coat asked. "We're here—"

"Relax, guys," Leon said. "It's a... friend's sister. She's sort of fallen on bad times. I'm going to let her stay over a night. That okay with you, boys?" The two glanced at each other, radiating puzzlement.

"Mr. Kennedy, we're not—"

"I know who you are," Leon said, nodding his head in the direction of the tiny camera mounted over his door. "Listen, she's cool." The men glanced at each other again, and Leon wiped rain off his face. The wind was blowing the pouring water into his house.

"Mr. Kennedy," Leather Coat began slowly, as if he was talking to a small child, "we weren't even aware someone was in your house. It's not _our_ job to worry about your private affairs." Amusement shone from the man's dark eyes. Leon now took his turn at being confused. "We're here because we have a message for you from President Graham himself." Trench Coat took an envelope from deep within his bulky garment and handed the message to Leon.

"We trust that you will be in touch with him soon. It must be _important_," Leather Coat said, putting sneering emphasis on the last word. The two messengers promptly turned—together, as if on cue—and walked down the stairs into the torrential downpour.

Leon watched them disappear into the stormy haze before going back inside. He turned the envelope over a few times. There was nothing on the front save his name, and on the other side was a simple golden sticker of the presidential seal, which held the envelope shut. The agent slid his finger under the sticker and grasped the paper within, flicking his wrist to let the envelope fall to the floor as he shut the front door with his other hand. Dread was building up inside him, filling his stomach and making him feel heavy and leaden. From the President himself... this could only mean that he was needed again. But he quickly found that he was wrong as he read.

_Mr. Kennedy,_

_I received a letter several days ago asking permission for you to attend a charity ball hosted by Chayliss&Rather Industries. This company helped to campaign for me while I was running for office, and continues to support this administration with large donations. After reading the letter, it seemed only fair that we help them back in some small way. Therefore, you have my permission to leave the city to attend the event the days of April 16th-18th. But remember, your location will still be monitored._

_Sincerely, Charles T. Graham_

_President of the United States of America_

Leon gave a humorless, incredulous laugh. These people had really done their homework! He remembered receiving the invitation almost a week ago, but hadn't bothered to ask permission to go. In truth, he wasn't into either formal events or aiding massive companies. And now, the gist of the situation was that since Mr. Chayliss had voted for President Graham, he had to go.

_God, I hate politics,_ he thought. Leon sighed. This meant he would have to get a tux.

"Leon?" he jumped; hearing another human voice in his apartment wasn't something he was used to. He had forgotten Estella was still there.

"Who was that?" the girl asked. Her gray eyes were wide and frightened. He smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry. Someone wanted to give me a letter." As she nodded, he allowed his eyes to glance over her body. She was nearly his height, with a slender frame that mirrored that of her fallen brother, though she appeared much more delicate. The color of her olive skin, flushed yet from the warm water of her shower, stood out against the huge white tee-shirt she wore. The garment reached almost to her knees and clung to her still-wet curves. He could see the outline of her dark panties under the damp, almost see-through cloth, and... nothing else. Leon averted his eyes, surprised at himself and somewhat ashamed. The agent gave a small shake of his head to bring his thoughts around.

"Don't worry," he repeated, going to the table to turn off the lantern. "Are you going to bed? It's only... 5:45," he said, checking his watch.

"I am very tired," she replied as he collected the towel and blanket she had used earlier.

"Do you want me to wake you up tomorrow?" The blanket was tossed onto the couch, the towel dropped on the floor.

"No, thank you."

"Do you want something to eat? I'm going to put in a pizza," he said, going to the freezer.

"Okay. I will be in the bedroom. Please tell me when it is finished." He threw a glance over his shoulder as she walked down his hallway. After all, how could one not take a moment to admire her long, graceful legs?

Leon sighed as he turned the oven on. This girl needed to get some food and rest, not to be ogled. Sure, she was attractive... but Leon still had his honor. His dead friend's sister was most definitely off limits; the idea just didn't seem right. And besides, at least the fact that she was there meant he wouldn't feel so lonely tonight. Years had passed since he'd actually lived in a house with another person, and that did not include the years spent in training. But he had learned to live alone, and almost enjoyed the solitude; after Raccoon City, quiet seemed to suit his personality better.

The now-heated oven let out a _ping!_ and he unwrapped the pizza and placed it on the rack. He left the plastic on the counter, set the oven timer, and went to the living room, where he flopped onto his couch. The remote was sitting near his foot, and he turned on the TV. Nothing very interesting was showing. There were several stations giving information about the storm, which was now moving north, some reality shows, which he despised, a documentary on an old police investigation, a few sitcoms, and a made-for-TV movie that seemed to be about a break-in at a bank. He settled for the documentary.

Estella appeared in the kitchen, half her upper body poking around the hallway corner so she could see him in the living room. "Leon, can I use please your telephone and call to my sister?"

"Go ahead," he answered, his eyes not moving from the television screen. So the call would be major long-distance. He didn't really mind, the government paid all his bills. Settling back with a yawn, he watched his show. However, after a few minutes, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Too easy. It was her father," he muttered to himself of the murder on the documentary. As he continued watching his eyes began to drift shut, and soon the agent dozed off.

* * *

One ring. Two. Three...

Estella gave a frustrated sigh and bit her lip. Why wasn't Carmen answering? Unless she had...

No. She wouldn't let herself think that. She had been suspicious of that man, alright. He showed up at her door once to tell her of Luis's death, along with that woman. And the next time he had come alone. After speaking with him, though he maintained a pleasant exterior, she was sure something about him was amiss. But what choice did she have? She feared for her younger sister's safety, even though he hadn't been outright threatening... yet. After all, Carmen was all she had now. The man scared her, plain and simple.

"Sí?" A young girl's voice. Estella breathed a sigh of relief and began speaking rapidly in Spanish.

"Carmen, I need you to do something for me."

"You go to America and when you call, all you can do is ask me favors?"

"Fine. Hi, how are you?"

"Good. I'm feeling better."

"Have you been taking your medicine?"

"Yeah." Carmen had unfortunately contracted the same nasty case of pneumonia Estella had, and was much worse off than her older sibling.

"Alright, now will you please go into my room and look on my desk for something?" A sigh.

"Fine, what do you need?"

"There is a notebook with a number written on the first page next to my phone. Can you tell me the number, please?" There was a shuffling noise.

"The number in green ink?"

"Yes, that's it."

"1-813-555-4273."

"Thanks. I've got to go now, Carmen." There was a pause.

"Stella... did he have anything to say about... about Luis?" The young girl's voice was hesitant and pained. Estella sighed.

"A little... he said he was a good man, and he did what was right." Estella could hear her sister sniffle on the other end of the line. "Hey, cheer up. I'll be home tomorrow, I promise. And I'll try talking to him again. Okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Stella. Bye."

"Love you too," Estella said. She turned off the phone replaced the headset in the cradle. The girl sighed as she looked at the number written upon her hand. Now came what she assumed would be the hard part. The blond man had told her he would pay for her flight to America if she would do him this favor: convince Leon Kennedy to go to that ball by whatever means necessary. That was after she had told him of Luis sending her word to go to Leon, and before he took the small box containing her brother's research notes. She had gone through them beforehand; most were in a scientific jargon she could not understand, but she had gotten the idea of the research, alright. The very thought of her brother participating in such horrible experiments made her sick. But Leon's words, though few, really had been a comfort. And now she just had to find some way to bring up this matter of the ball—she didn't understand, but she would try anyways. She just hoped she wouldn't have to do anything too... extreme... to convince the American.

* * *

_Ping!_ The oven timer rang, signifying that the pizza was done. Leon sat up with a gasp; he didn't recall falling asleep. The television was still on, however, and a storm watch bulletin ended just in time for him to hear the conclusion of the murder case:

"_...Phyliss Wheatmin, age twenty-three, was murdered by Darryl Wheatmin while he was in a drunken rage. She was not safe, even three states away from her childhood home, from her own father. He was tried and convicted..."_

"Knew it," Leon muttered, stifling a yawn as he rose and stretched. He went to the oven and pulled out the hot pizza, practically tossing it onto the counter in order to avoid being burned. He grabbed plates and cut two slices for Estella and three for himself, then took two Mountain Dews out of the fridge. He turned to call the girl, but she was already standing at the counter.

"Whoa," he said, startled. "Um... I forgot to ask what you like, hope you don't mind cheese." She shook her head. "You can sit out here and eat with me if you want; I'm just going to watch T.V." Leon went back to his seat on the couch, and Estella settled in on a nearby recliner. They watched the rest of the documentary and the beginning of another before Estella finished and took her plate to the sink and threw away her can. Leon set his own on the floor.

"I am going to go to sleep now. Goodnight, and thank you," she said over her shoulder as she went down the hall to his room. Leon cocked his head and frowned. She seemed to be upset about something. But he shrugged the thought off. Of course she was upset, her brother was dead and he had nothing more to say than "I'm sorry." Well, he didn't know what else he could do.

With a sigh, Leon began flipping through the channels again until he remembered there was a movie on soon he had been interested in. He went to the appropriate channel to wait for the film. The house was a bit of a mess, but... oh well. He would do dishes tomorrow. The agent pulled his tee-shirt off and tossed it onto the recliner, quite content to eventually fall asleep in his navy blue sweatpants. Grabbing the blanket he had thrown onto the couch earlier he snuggled down into the sofa to watch his movie.

About two hours into the film, the sound of someone clearing her throat drew his attention away from the TV screen. Estella stood nearby, waiting shyly with her hands behind her back for him to acknowledge her.

"What's up?" he asked, pulling himself into a sitting position. He felt, more than actually saw, her eyes quickly take in his shirtless form. Leon shivered.

"Um... I have question for you," she said, taking a seat near him on the couch. She was radiating nervous energy, and he wondered why.

"Alright," Leon said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume on the TV nearly all the way down. "What do you need?"

"What is this?" she asked, taking an envelope from behind her back. He recognized the thing at once.

"That's an invitation to a dance," he said cautiously. It immediately struck him as odd that two government men had come to his door regarding that very same matter, and now she was inquiring about the invitation he had left on his nightstand. Had she been going through his things for the past two hours? But he immediately chastised himself for thinking such a thought.

"Are you planning on to go to it?" she asked. Her voice was almost shaking, and he was puzzled. Just what was she so afraid of?

"Well, I wasn't, but then my boss told me I should. So now I guess I'm gonna, yeah." She let out an audible sigh of relief. Was it his answer that had her on edge? Estella now smiled.

"Good. It will be fun for you." He smiled back at her, and there was a tense moment of silence in which each was fully aware that the other was studying him or her intently. Leon felt bad for eyeing her before because the feeling he had now was close to embarrassment at the way her eyes slowly slipped from his own to take in his powerfully built upper body. He wanted to make her stop... however at the same time, he felt pleased. The agent worked out several hours a day and this obviously showed, but aside from an ego boost, she was simply _there_. He wasn't alone, like he had been every other night for what seemed like eons.

"Estella... uh... why did your brother quit the police in Madrid, aside from work keeping him away from the family?" he asked, fishing for some way to distract himself from her closeness. She smelled wonderful, a faint combination of lavender and citrus. The quiet voice she answered in sounded distant.

"Well, he got job as police because our father was police. The other police feel sorry for us and give him job. But job was too dangerous, Luis said, and not pay enough. He say they not be thankful for what he do enough. Not worth almost dying, he say." Leon nodded, words failing him for the moment. More silence. Estella brought her eyes up to meet his. Neither was aware of the fact that their bodies were getting closer, mutual feelings of attraction and loneliness instinctively drawing them together.

Leon's hand, which had been resting upon the armrest of the couch, slowly moved—seemingly of its own accord—to caress Estella's cheek. Her skin was soft, so soft, he mused, and the hand she placed over his was warm. Their faces were mere inches apart and that distance was hesitantly closed. His nose brushed hers for a brief second, making his face tingle with the nearness of her own, before he turned his head slightly and placed a soft, chaste kiss upon her lips. Her other hand moved to his shoulder and slowly made its way to his neck, attempting to pull him closer.

_Good God man, get a hold of yourself!_ a voice screamed deep inside his mind. He blinked in surprise, as if someone was actually there yelling, and assessed the situation: here was a girl he hardly knew, almost nine years his younger, in his home, at his mercy, and in all respects he now felt he was taking advantage of her.

"Estella, you have a flight to catch tomorrow. You should get some sleep," Leon said in a tone that sounded terribly paternal, pulling out of her arms. She nodded wordlessly and got up, quickly making her way to the bedroom.

Leon let out a long sigh and fell back into the couch. What was his world coming to when he would start making out with the first female that came to his door? Granted, there was a bit more to the situation than that, but really...

He tried to turn his attention back to the movie, and ended up falling asleep in a matter of seconds. After a while he began to have uneasy dreams, and though he would not realize it, he sobbed quietly in the middle of the night. Estella never heard him, but two distinguishable words left his mouth.

"Ada..." he moaned. "Why?"

* * *

Estella sat upon Leon's bed for a long time. She stared off into space, clutching her own arms in a self-embrace as if she were cold. But her tremors were not from anything temperature-related.

_I think Luis sent me here just for comfort,_ she thought. _After all, Leon was the last to see him alive. And he certainly did comfort me, didn't he?_ The girl sighed. This was ridiculous. She was lonely and scared and he felt sorry for her. But still, a part of her wished his kiss could have been more than a gesture of pity. She sighed. There was still one more thing to do before she could set her aching, tired body to rest.

Estella picked up Leon's phone for a second time and looked at the number upon her hand before dialing. There was a ring, then another, and finally an answer.

"Hello, Estella." She shuddered at that voice, deep and cold as an icy well. The slight hint of an accent—English, she thought—didn't help at all. "I've been waiting for your call. It's a bit late, don't you think?"

"I am sorry," she said. "I talked to him, and he told to me that he will go. His boss had told him to go." Estella could almost hear that man smiling on the other end of the line.

"Good. I suppose then I didn't need your help after all. But thank you, none the less."

"You're... you're welcome," she responded haltingly, surprised at his sudden show of gratitude.

"I'm certain your sister misses you. Make sure you get home tomorrow." The line went dead, and Estella hung up the phone in slow-motion. She bit her lip nervously at the mention of Carmen. The reference to her sister worried her, and though she couldn't quite place the feeling, she feared for the younger girl's safety. And knowing she was so far away, unable to protect her... she felt helpless and scared.

Estella Sera cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Leon awoke and sat up stiffly. His neck was sore; he had slept with his head tilted to the left for most of the night. He looked at his watch: 10:37. Estella would have been long gone by now. The thought of her brought an ashamed rush of color to his face. He hadn't been able to help her much, and he had taken advantage of her confused state to soothe his own loneliness. Even if the offending action _had_ just been an innocent kiss, he still felt bad. But, what was done was done. He rose with a sigh and stretched.

After showering, straightening out his kitchen, and putting something in his stomach, Leon grabbed his car keys with the intent of leaving the house to find a place where he might rent a tuxedo. As he opened the door, he noticed something on the counter: an envelope, with his name upon the back. Inside were two separate notes, and he took them out. One, in a woman's neat cursive, was written by Estella.

_Leon,_

_Thank you for letting me stay in your home. I wish there was more things you could have told to me of Luis, but I will never understand my brother and why he send me to you. Thank you again._

_I have left for you the last note Luis send to me. Though it is wrote in Spanish, maybe you can get something more from it._

_Thank you for everything._

_Estella_

Leon dug the other note out of the envelope. He recognized Luis's handwriting at once; he had seen the man's papers scattered about the village, castle, and military facility when he was on his mission in Spain. It appeared to him that Luis had taken a page out of one of his research journals and used the blank side to write his message to Estella. There were formulas and notes in the tiniest of scripts upon the front of the paper as though he had tried to put as much information on one page as possible. Leon could make out a few things, words like "plaga" and "ganados," but little else. And he fared no better with the note to Estella.

"Well, who knows," he voiced aloud. Maybe the letter would come in handy some day. He might even be able to take the message to the library for a translation. Without further thought, he put the notes back in the envelope and stuffed the envelope in his pocket. The agent picked up his keys and left, locking the apartment behind him.

* * *

Estella unlocked the door to the small house she shared with her sister. Carmen was most likely sleeping. Lately she was always tired from fighting off the sickness that had taken hold of her and would not seem to let go.

"Carmen?" she called into the eerie quiet. "Carmen, I'm home. Carmen? Are you—" she let out a scream as a powerful arm wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her back against a body that might as well have been built of granite. Another hand clamped over her mouth. She dropped her bag and attempted to claw at the hand, but the arm about her shoulders crushed her further until, with a tiny squeak, she stopped struggling. She was having difficulties breathing around the palm that completely covered the lower half of her face.

A figure appeared in her peripheral vision, to her left. She could see as well as feel the dark glasses that pressed into her cheek; could just make out the blond hair. He was also smiling. She could feel that, too. Sheer terror took her as her vision blurred from loss of air.

"Now, if you don't struggle, I'll let you breathe. I could kill you now, but I have some questions for you, hm?" the man said in fluent Spanish. Estella nodded, and then held as still as was possible to show she had no thoughts of fighting back. Not that she could have hurt him, anyways. The blond man removed his hand from her mouth, and she took a panicked, gasping breath. "Good girl," he said, his smooth voice venomous. "Now, I'd like to ask you something. That package you gave me, the box with your brother's research notes- was that all? Was there nothing else in that box? Because it seems to be missing something very important I'm quite sure he had. And I am _never_ wrong," he said, emphasizing the word "never" with a violent squeeze to her shoulders. His free hand moved to her delicate neck. For a moment, Estella was sure he would strangle her. But he did not; rather, he stroked the side of her throat with one gloved finger. The touch made her shiver.

"I... am certain. What was in the box was the only research he sent to me. Please," she pleaded, though she was not sure what for. His finger dipped lower, nearing the collarbone exposed by the v-neck of her shirt. Her breathing grew more rapid.

"Carmen _did_ miss her sister," the man whispered into Estella's ear. Her heart and stomach clashed violently somewhere in the middle of her abdomen; her fear caused her heart to sink and her stomach to rise and try to empty the contents of her meager breakfast onto the floor. She swallowed thickly. "She said she was sorry, she didn't know what you had taken from the box. She hadn't even seen what was in it. I bet she wished she could have asked you." Estella began to cry.

"Please, Wesker, leave her out of this, she did nothing wrong..."

"You're lying to me, Miss Sera. And I don't tolerate liars," he growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about; I gave you all his notes!" Estella sobbed as Wesker's hand slid lower, until his finger was under the collar of her shirt and grazing the lace of her bra.

"Luckily, there are ways of dealing with liars," he spat viciously. In a movement faster than anyone would have thought possible, the hand about her shoulders released the girl and pushed her forward. The hand that had been dabbling in her shirt struck the back of her neck with brutal force. She fell, unconscious.

_Finally,_ he thought. Her crying had been annoying to him. He flipped her body over with a booted foot and crouched on the ground next to her. She was pretty, and the tight cloth of her top revealed that she had a nice body. He tilted his head to one side as he studied her. She looked like Sera, of course, but that wasn't a bad thing in her case. _She might be good for a fuck later on,_ he mused. Without further ado he picked the limp girl up off the floor and slung her over his shoulder like a rag doll, making for the back door. He had a chopper nearby.

Wesker was tired and irritable of late; he had spent most of the previous day going through Sera's notes. What was there was nothing new to him. But he had been absolutely _sure_ that what he was looking for would be there. So naturally, when he didn't find what he wanted, he got angry. _Very_ angry. Thank goodness most of his researchers were a disposable bunch! He had taken out his rage on several of the hapless scientists. Wesker was sure the girl knew something; was hiding something important. And he was determined to find whatever _it_ was. He had taken her sister the night before, shortly before the girl called him. Indeed, leverage was always a good thing to have.

The girl moaned a bit in her unconsciousness, mumbling something about her sister he could not make out. Albert Wesker smiled. Yes, there were ways of dealing with liars.

* * *

March 31, 2005

Billy Coen ran a weary hand over his cheek, rubbing at the few-days-old stubble that grew there. He was tired. Since meeting Rebecca at the café almost a week previous, he hadn't been able to sleep right. He would stay up until at least midnight, thinking of her, pondering the invitation she had been sent, and thinking of her more. Of how she had changed and how they just happened to be in the same city at the same time, how she had responded to him at their last meeting and why she had changed her name to what she had. Then he would try to sleep, and his dreams would be plagued with visions of the monsters from almost seven years ago. He was a wreck, but he tried not to let his exhaustion show.

Now the ex-marine was waiting for the girl to show up. The note he had left her, taped to the bottom of their table at The Blue Eye, was gone when he next went there, so he assumed she was going to show up today. But sitting there, just waiting as the minutes ticked by, was nerve-wracking.

Still, he could not help but notice that the day was gorgeous. Noon was five minutes away and the temperature was warm, the sky sunny and cloudless. Billy was sitting in the shade of a tall maple as couples, families, and friends passed, eager to get as much sun as was possible before the weather cooled down again. The park was beautiful and there was plenty to do. He leaned against the trunk of the tree and stretched his legs, waiting. After a moment, his head fell back and his eyes drifted shut.

The man was suddenly aware of someone near him, to his right. He opened his eyes, surprised and hardly aware that he had almost dozed off, to see a short woman crouched next to him. She was watching him with an amused expression on her pretty face.

"Falling asleep at your post again, eh, Lieutenant?" she asked. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"I didn't know you were such a joker," he muttered, stifling a yawn. She had caught him off guard, and now she was being sarcastic to boot. There was no hint of the flustered confusion she had shown at their last meeting; she seemed to be in a very happy state of mind. He cleared his throat. "What's got you in such a good mood?" She shrugged and took a seat next to him, wrapping her arms about her legs and resting her head on her knees. "Happy to see me?" She let out a snort, but Billy couldn't help noticing the blush that colored her cheeks. Both of them silently stared off into the park for a moment.

"So... what should I do about the letter? Did you think of anything?" Billy sighed at this question.

"I've been thinking about it all week. The only thing I can say for sure is don't go." Rebecca frowned and lifted her head to look at him.

"That's what you said last time. But I told you, I'm worried what they might do to my family if I don't. I can't just not go and let them get hurt," she said. Billy frowned back at her.

"Well, I know that. I'm not saying you should. But we aren't even sure they know where your family is. And if they do, how do we know they're so desperate to get to you that they would actually do something to them?" His frustration from the past week was beginning to show and he knew he shouldn't be raising his voice at her. But he felt useless because he had done what he could, and that wasn't much.

"It doesn't add up! Don't you get it? Why would they mention having ways to make sure everyone attends if they weren't going to use them?" Her voice raised a notch to match his. Billy rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"You're just being paranoid. Clue in, girl! You can't go because _something's not right_. If you went you'd only be putting your life in danger!"

_And this time I wouldn't be able to save you!_ He wasn't surprised that the thought just sort of slipped into his mind on its own. That had been another worry of his over her attending this ball.

"And if I _didn't_ go, I'd only be putting my entire family at risk. Is that what you want me to do?"

"I never said _that_," Billy lowered his voice; people were beginning to stare. Rebecca was glaring at him through cold gray eyes.

"Billy, you don't understand! I left _everything_ behind just so that they would be safe. I changed my name, moved out here, _everything_—just so that I wouldn't have to worry about going home one day to find my mom and my dad and my little niece and nephews and sister dead. Because I wouldn't put it past Umbrella to do that to get at me if they thought I'd seen too much and—" she was standing now, and paused. The girl looked a cross between angry and just plain miserable. Billy had the sudden urge to stand and take her into his arms... but only got as far as standing. Rebecca had tears in her eyes, and he found his courage suddenly failed him. He put his hands on her forearms and pulled her back into a sitting position.

"I don't know what else you should do, Rebecca," Billy said softly. She nodded.

"I know it's my problem, not yours. And I should deal with it myself, but—" she cut off and her eyes grew wide.

"Rebecca, I have no problem—" She shushed him, and he gave her a confused look. "What's wrong?"

"No... nothing. I just had an idea."

"What do you mean?" Rebecca paused and put a hand to her mouth, narrowing her eyes as she thought.

"I won't go." He raised an eyebrow dubiously at her sudden change of heart.

"What?"

"I'm not going. I won't respond to the letter, if I'm lucky they'll think I just didn't get it. But most likely... well." she looked at him with a worried expression, and then sighed. "We'll see what happens. But meanwhile, I need to ask you something."

"...Alright," he wasn't following any of this, but he trusted she knew what she was doing.

"Um, can I stay with you for a few days?" His eyes went wide and he stammered dumbly for a moment.

"What for?" Rebecca lowered her own eyes in a sort of uncomfortable embarrassment.

"Just trust me. I need to be away from my dorm if this is going to work the way I want it to. I won't... I don't need anything; I'll go straight home and pack my stuff. I can sleep on a couch or something."

"Uh... sure," Billy replied. She nodded, still looking at the ground. Her cheeks were bright pink.

"Okay. I'm going to head home and get my stuff," she said, standing. "Um, I don't know where you live."

"I'll wait for you in the lobby of your place in... a half hour?"

"Right," she said, getting up and turning. She ran off before he could even say anything else.

Billy leaned back against the tree and shook his head. Well, that sort of thing certainly didn't happen every day. However, he trusted that the idea she had must have been good. And besides, it wouldn't be so bad having her around. While she was there he could get some of his questions answered. He tried to tell himself that was why he was suddenly so happy and full of energy, but for some reason he couldn't get his mind around the fact that she was going to be in _his_ house. Spending time with him. Alone. Her face appeared in his thoughts, smiling, her gray eyes full of charm and intelligence. He had a sudden vision of himself staring into those eyes, getting closer, until he finally placed his lips upon hers. Of her hands upon his shoulders, his neck, moving down his back; of his hands starting at her own neck and working their way lower...

The ex-marine stood up, attempting to wipe the small smile that had formed upon his face away. He had things to do, places to be. This was no time to sit under a tree and daydream. Billy stretched and began to make his way to Rebecca's place.

April 3rd, 2005

Rebecca Chambers sat in the living room of a cluttered apartment. In the few days she had been there, she'd tried to straighten things out a little bit. But Billy's house just sort of... _defied_ cleaning. The home wasn't dirty, just messy, and no matter what she did, shirts seemed to end up on the floor and dishes wouldn't stay in the sink. Billy had laughed at her attempts to organize at first. He lived in a huge, old, Victorian-style home that had been divided into four different apartments. The ex-marine didn't seem to hold any job and she had asked him how he managed to pay rent, because in her experience such places were expensive. He'd just shrugged.

Her things were at the end of a sofa. She had hastily packed everything she needed into one suitcase and a duffel bag. While she had told Billy she would only have to stay a few days, in truth, she had no idea how long she would be there. She had left without a note, but her roommates were almost never home and Rebecca doubted anyone missed her as of yet. And now, she was just waiting. Billy had left very early that morning and would most likely not be back for a few hours. He had taken a flight to Maine, where her childhood home was, to check up on her family at her request.

She sighed and lay back on the couch, staring at the curtains she hadn't bothered to open yet. Just zoning out and thinking, she had been sitting there for a total of an hour and a half. Her stomach was in a knot, and she had to force herself not to imagine what might possibly have gone wrong.

_They won't be there. Or they'll be there, but dead. Or... what if he gets there and they're waiting and they get him, too?_ She sat up, her heart racing.

"I'm so tired of being useless!" she shouted to the empty house. Her eyes roamed the vacant room until they came to rest upon the invitation on the coffee table. That damn invitation had started this whole thing. But if her suspicions were correct...

Rebecca stood up. She had planned to go with Billy to see a friend about the letter the next day, but she suddenly changed her mind. She was sick of just sitting there waiting.

She pulled an old pair of jeans out of her suitcase and shoved the invitation in the back pocket, then grabbed a plain white tee-shirt as well. As she pulled off the shorts she had worn to bed and began to change, she stared at the thing peeking out from under another shirt in her bag: her S.T.A.R.S.-issue Beretta. Her mind turned, trying to decide whether to bring the handgun with her or not. She had kept the weapon all these years, her mind reasoned, and now her instincts were telling her it might be a good idea to keep the gun on her. With a sigh, she dug the firearm out, along with an ankle holster.

_I can't believe I actually think I need to do this,_ she criticized herself. But she rolled up the right leg of her jeans and strapped the holster on none the less. She would soon forget she even had the gun with her. Rebecca blushed at her next thought: _I should wear something so people won't recognize me so easily._

"Billy was right. I'm paranoid," she told herself aloud. However, she began searching her bags for some sort of jacket that would make her feel safer. None of her own clothes met her criteria, however, as the only jacket she had was a light, close-fitting gray one. She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, looking about the room.

There! On the rocking chair! Billy's denim jacket was thrown carelessly onto the back of the rocker. As she put on the coat, a small smile crept onto her face. The coat was too big on her; the sleeves covered her hands and the body of the jacket reached almost mid-thigh. And the coat definitely _smelled_ like Billy: a musky sort of scent, with a bit of cinnamon. Yes, it would be perfect. She let out a little giggle.

_God, I'm _pathetic she thought.

A quick search around the house found her a plain blue Nike baseball cap sitting upon his bed, and after pulling her hair into a ponytail she put that on as well. She marveled at being in his room; despite the fact that she had been there almost five days they had spent most of their time apart, she reading in the living room and he either gone or in his room with the door closed. She was tempted to throw herself upon the bed, suddenly wondering if his pillows smelled as good as his jacket...

_OKAY, I'm DEFINITELY leaving,_ she thought, shaking her head with embarrassment. Rebecca made her way down the stairs and out the door. The friend she planned to see lived back on campus, and as the sky was clouded over and the wind picking up she decided to take a bus.

Ten minutes and a dollar later, she found herself standing in front of her friend Brandon's door. She knocked hesitantly, only now realizing that he would want an explanation.

"Hey Becca," a voice said from behind the door after a moment. She could hear locks being unlocked, and she was confused. Since when did Brandon lock his doors? "Come in, hurry up."

Rebecca entered the dark apartment. The only light came from a computer screen at the end of the room. A screen saver, showing a slide show of various female video game characters, lit everything up with flashes of multicolored light.

"Why is it dark?" she asked. Brandon flipped on the lights.

"There was an attack on some students last night. I didn't want anyone to see I was home, but it's just you." At his words, Rebecca suddenly felt the weight of the gun strapped to her ankle again.

"I see..."

"So what brings you here, babe?" She smiled at her friend, unsure of where to begin.

Brandon Garik was twenty-one, smart, and very good-looking. He had curly blond hair that was untamable, and bright green eyes that shone from behind his glasses. He was charming and sweet, as well as tall and naturally muscular. The man could have had almost any girl he wanted, but he was such a recluse he hardly knew any. In classes, he stuck to the back of the room, and only when he tripped and fell down an entire flight of stairs did Rebecca get the chance to meet him. He'd taken a nasty cut on the forehead that had required immediate medical aid. She just happened to be there at the time. Since then, the two had become great friends. Rebecca learned that Brandon was clumsy as all hell, preferred his video games to a real person almost any day, did not like white milk, and that he was an expert computer hacker, among other things. He was at school for Computer Science and hoped to someday work with NASA, developing satellites. But until then, he was content to sit in his room, playing video games and hacking into various systems "just for the hell of it". Rebecca adored him, and he had a hopeless crush on her.

"Well, I need you to check something out for me," she finally said. He took a seat in front of his computer and leaned back in the swivel chair.

"I see... such as?"

"This," she said, taking the invitation from her pocket. He took the letter and began reading, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "I got this weird invitation in the mail, and it is to me, don't mind the name, but something tells me that I shouldn't go," she said, looking at the floor. There was a moment of silence as he read.

"There's something you haven't told me about yourself, isn't there?" Brandon finally asked, studying her. Rebecca gave a wordless nod. "I'm guessing you're not about to tell me, either."

"No... I am sorry, but I need this cleared up first. I'll explain some day. It's important," she said, looking at him. The honesty in her gray eyes sent a wave of pity through his heart, and he nodded. There was no way he could ever be mad at her.

"What exactly do you want me to find for you?"

"Well, I need... just... basic information on the company, I guess. Whatever you can find." Brandon nodded, turning to his computer. "I think I'm going to disappear for a little while."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he asked, pulling up the internet.

"I don't know yet. That's what I need you for. I have an idea, but if I'm right... well, then it's bad." Brandon nodded again. "If I come back in about a week, is that alright?" He nodded again, already typing information about the company from the invitation into a program he had created. Rebecca smiled and hugged her friend as best she could over his chair. "Thanks, Brandon. I knew I could count on you." He grinned and blushed before turning serious again.

"You be careful, okay babe?" She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Of course I will. And if you could sort of keep this hushed up, I'd appreciate it," she said as she left.

Brandon turned and watched as she shut the door behind her. He shook his head and sighed. His smile had hidden the worry he felt for the young woman. But he wanted to help her, and this was what she needed. He turned back to his computer and began researching with a vengeance.

* * *

Rebecca nearly raced to the bus stop. The campus was crawling with police, and that made her uneasy. She wanted to find out what had happened, but decided against talking to anyone. Tomorrow's paper would tell. The bus ride to Billy's street seemed agonizingly long, and she sighed as she thought of Brandon. He was one of her best friends, and she hoped she hadn't put him in any sort of danger.

She took off the hat as she climbed the stairs to Billy's home. Her watch said 3:17, and he would be getting back sometime soon. She shut the door and tossed the hat onto the rocker before putting the jacket on the same chair. So, that was done. Now, to find something to do until—

The sound of someone clearing his throat drew her attention to the couch. She gasped, frightened, before realizing that the person sitting there was just Billy, home early. The startled girl let out a long sigh.

"You could have said something," she scolded. He stared up at her, and uneasily she noticed the bottle of beer in his hand. In her experience, drinking had never come from—or lead to—positive things. The man stood and set his beverage down on the coffee table, scratching at the back of his head as if he desperately needed something to do with his hands. "Sorry about your jacket, I just... didn't really feel safe, I thought someone might recognize me too easily," she said uncertainly as he moved toward her. He gazed at her through red-rimmed eyes; fatigue wreaked havoc on his handsome face. But there was something else there, something definitely wasn't right. He looked as though he was struggling to say what was on his mind.

"Billy... Billy, what's wrong?" she asked, looking up at him. Her stomach was doing anxious somersaults. Billy opened his mouth, tried to form words, and failed. Finally, he managed to blurt something out.

"Rebecca, I went to your house and no one was there but cops. It was all shot up, and there was blood everywhere. I... I don't... I'm sorry," he stammered.

The look on Rebecca's face was heartbreaking. She would have fallen to her knees, had Billy not caught her. He held her close as she began to weep.

* * *

Next Chapter: Old friends... a stubborn romance... final preparations for a fateful night. Discoveries and the quiet before the storm. 


	5. Discoveries

April 3rd, 2005

"Oh..." A woman's weak sob cut through the frigid air of a room far below the ground. She was beginning the painful process of waking up. Her entire body ached; every muscle resisted her movements. A quick look showed her slender arms were covered in shallow cuts, dried blood, and bruises. Her clothes had a few ragged tears. And perhaps worst of all was a familiar, moist thickness deep within her chest: the illness she had been on her way to beating had taken hold of her again. As she tried to come to terms with her body's pains, the beaten young woman began to wonder how long she had been out of commission.

The room she inhabited was completely concrete, obviously a cell of some kind. She was not restrained in any way, and, standing, discovered that the chamber was about six paces long from rear wall to metal door and four from side to side. There was a thin padded mat in a back corner with a frayed, dirty blanket. The meager rectangle of cloth was of the bleak shade of gray associated with prisons and the homeless. Occupying the other back corner was a large metal pot that was apparently to serve as a toilet. Water dripped from overhead pipes. Little illumination came from a window set high in the door; a tiny, bare bulb served that purpose. The light bulb threw weak beams onto the walls and floor and showed stains that could have been anything from rust to blood to chocolate pudding thrown in a food fight. Estella Sera decided that they were certainly not the latter, at the very least. She sat upon her mat, put her head gently against the wall, and watched water drip from the ceiling into a small pool on the floor. As the young woman absorbed her surroundings, salty tears falling from her gray eyes gathered similarly in the hollow of her neck. This was most certainly not good.

Wesker. Wesker must have brought her here. But where was Carmen? Surely someone would have to come and feed her; she might be able to get information from them...

"Miss Sera." That smooth voice; that perfect, practiced Spanish accent he used whenever he decided to speak to her in her native language. She closed her eyes, hoping that what she had heard might be a product of her imagination. But the cell door opened, letting in a draft of chill air and the noise of what sounded like a particularly nasty bar fight from down the hallway, and a hand suddenly closed around her upper arm. Estella could not help but tremble; however, Wesker did not haul her roughly to her feet, as she expected.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would wake up. I have something I am... _eager_ to show you." She ventured a glance at his face: his features remained stoic as ever. _Now_ she was jerked violently from the ground, the sudden movement forcing a pitiful whimper from her lips. Wesker couldn't conceal the hint of a smirk that crept onto his face, though Estella was forced to the door faster than she could take note of his expression for a second time.

A large, bearded man that had been waiting outside of her cell shut the door with a slam and began to follow the pair down the hallway. Wesker had her cross her arms behind her back and kept a firm grip on each just above the elbow. She was pushed on ahead of him. The corridor was lined with doors, each exactly the same as her own, and the cries drifting from behind them ranged from wordless sobs to angry screaming. Men and women wailed: there were curses and threats in some cases, shouts of pain in others. Some begged for death, some simply for a meal or better blanket. A few of the prisoners—for that was what they must be, she assumed—yelled for release. And some just shrieked. Shrieked and shrieked, their insane calls filling the very space around them with a tuneless chord that reverberated through her skull and threatened to split her mind in half. She wanted them to stop; they drowned out all the worldly, still-human moans from the others and turned the hallway they walked into a torture chamber for a fragile mind, a mind that was lead to imagine things not quite human lurking behind the closed cell doors. Things not whole, not right... she wanted to add her own screaming to the madness... she wanted to just scream until everything stopped...

Wesker seemed impervious to the lunacy in the corridor, though by the time they had reached the door at the end of the cell block Estella was shaking badly. Wesker typed a series of numbers into a nearby keypad and shoved her through the opened exit, stepping through after and still followed by the bulky man. Once they were on the other side, the blond pressed a button that caused the door to slide shut with a hiss. The noises were suddenly cut off, and the young woman let out a sigh of relief.

"The more... _superstitious_ of my employees don't call that the 'Hall of the Damned' for nothing, I suppose," Wesker said, his tone conversational. He jerked his head in the direction of the tall brute behind him and Estella noticed that the man looked uneasy, like he had just walked over a pit of burning coals and wanted to be as far away from the heat as possible. "They do that when they hear the door open. I apologize for any inconvenience." He began to lead her from the prison by pushing her on from behind as before, down another concrete corridor that was dimly lit and very damp. "I had expected you to come to earlier. When your former location was required for other things, I had no choice but to move you." Estella did not speak, but her mind had recovered from the shock of the prison hallway and formed a question: where was Carmen?

Wesker seemed to read her thoughts, however. "Your sister is in quite a different place, I assure you. I couldn't submit such a young girl to horrors like that, now could I?" The answer was obvious, though Estella kept her mouth shut. Besides, there was no way for her to see the sadistic little smile that had formed upon the man's lips.

Suddenly, Estella drew in a sharp breath as her chest contracted painfully and she began to cough. Wesker, still gripping one of her frail arms, held up a gloved finger to stop the man behind them. The violent tremors wracked her whole body, and after a few moments her chest, abdomen, and throat were aching with the effort of ridding herself of the liquid in her lungs. Though she was frightened of Wesker, at the very least Estella was grateful that the bruising grasp he had on her arm kept her from falling to the floor. When her coughing subsided, stars swam before her eyes and her breath was short. But the blond man began to push her on again, his pace unmerciful.

The trio took an elevator to the fourth floor, made several turns along a winding hall, and then climbed a flight of stairs. Along the way, Estella noted that they passed a fair number of white-jacketed men and women. She guessed they were scientists by their clipboards, identification badges, and busy, self-important expressions. Others they saw were obviously guards, men and women who were armed and mean-looking. One woman they encountered caught Estella's attention as she was led along by Wesker. Asian, with chin-length black hair and stunning gray eyes, she wore a red turtle-necked tank top, black dress pants, and stiletto heels. Wesker nodded at her in recognition and the woman returned the gesture, locking eyes with Estella momentarily. Nothing about her fit in with the rest of the employees that roamed the halls, save her cool gaze; indeed, she seemed aloof and above the rest of them. Estella shivered.

But for the most part, the three of them were hardly given a glance. As they reached a door in a much emptier corridor, Wesker signaled for the other man to leave. Once he and Estella were alone he punched a code into a keypad identical to the one in the cell block.

_The code ends with a three,_ Estella observed. She had no clue why that might be significant at all, but she tucked the information away in her mind, in case it just might be useful later.

Wesker led her into a well-sized, though not extravagantly large, room. The wall opposite the door was covered in monitors, in front of which a high-backed leather office chair sat. On her left were a desk and several filing cabinets, on her right was a wall with a few bookshelves and a door. It was through this door that the blond man took her, into a short hallway. She had a brief second to notice five doors before he turned to the left and pushed her through the first. The corridor they now traveled was short and clean, heavy metal sliding doors on either side of them. He stopped and turned her to face him.

"I would like to ask you, for the first and last time today, what else was in the box your brother sent you." She searched his face for a moment, confused, before remembering their discussion the last time she had been conscious. Fear clawed at her insides; she knew she would not be able to give him the answer he wanted and dreaded the consequences.

"Nothing," was her answer. Estella's voice was hoarse. "I gave you everything." His silence scared her, and her muscles tensed, expecting a blow. But nothing came, and his face remained blank of expression.

"Perhaps you have forgotten."

"No! I swear, I'm telling you the truth." After another brutally soundless moment, a small grin crept onto his face. She became absolutely terrified.

"I think you need to speak to your brother. Maybe he can remind you."

"My... brother?" The woman's eyes were wide. "But Luis is dead." Wesker laughed. She flushed and attempted to step back out of his grasp, but his grip merely tightened around her arm until she let out a small cry of pain. The man continued to laugh; after a few moments her struggling gave way to tears and she simply stood there, crying as he laughed at her, his hands digging new marks into her arms.

He abruptly pulled her to one of the doors and took a card from an inner pocket of his expensive jacket. This he swiped through a scanner before entering a code into the numerical pad on the desired door. Wesker pushed her into the room revealed, and she turned to face him. His face still bore the lines of his lunatic smile, and he was shaking his head slowly.

"I don't tolerate liars. Perhaps you will be more inclined to tell me what I need to know after spending some time with your dear brother. I would be careful, though, it's been a while since he's been fed." His madly grinning face was the last thing she saw before the door shut.

This room was white, even complete with padded walls. A rattling sound, like that of heavy chains, sounded from behind her and she slowly turned. The sight before Estella prevented any noise from leaving her body. She backed up against the door and sank to the floor.

A man was chained to the wall opposite, heavy cuffs about his wrists. His head was bowed, face covered on the left side by lank black hair. The right side of his head was shaved, black stitches holding a flap of triangular-shaped skin over a slightly concave part of his skull. He was horribly emaciated, a pair of loose, stained white pants clinging to his jutting hips. Worst of all was the stomach area. Bloated and misshapen, the abdomen had obviously been ripped open and then stitched back up. Dark red blood had crusted around the torn skin. Estella drew in a deep and raspy breath; the man gave a low moan upon hearing the noise and moved his arms weakly. The chains rattled.

"...Luis," Estella breathed. An amused chuckle sounded from a hidden speaker overhead.

"Indeed." Wesker's voice. "With the technology at hand, repairing abdominal wounds is no problem, though the spine was a bit tougher to mend. He still hasn't regained the use of his legs, you see." Luis gave a grunt at the sound of the voice. Estella ignored Wesker and began to crawl forward, her eyes only on the thing chained to the wall. Luis's head lolled drunkenly back, the unblinking, cloudy orbs that were his eyes taking her into account. A thin reddish fluid drizzled from his mouth onto his bare chest.

Seated in his chair in front of the wall of monitors, Wesker leaned forward. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Estella reached Luis. She was close enough to touch him, close enough to smell the overly sweet, thick, and ultimately rotten stench coming from his wound... the scent of unwashed hair and urine that emanated from his grimy, pallid form. She forced herself not to break down. Where was the man that would come home and brag about the women he had met? The man who would tease Carmen about her male friends, who would surprise Estella by picking her up and spinning around until she was yelling at him to stop, who would throw his jacket on the floor no matter how many times she told him to put it away, who would protect them and take care of them... where was her brother?

"Luis." She put forth a faltering, shaky hand an attempt to place it upon his cheek. Those unnaturally wide, glazed eyes watched her from a head that was still tipped back against the wall. They darted between her nearing hand and her face, rapidly back and forth...

...Until her fingers actually met his flesh. The second she touched him he became a monster, springing from the wall to lash out with his teeth. With a scream she fell back, narrowly avoiding a bite. He watched her like an animal now, no more of the lazy lack of expression previously shown. His once-handsome face was twisted in a snarl; his breathing was throaty and ragged.

_My brother is dead_, Estella realized. The thread of wild hope that managed to creep into her mind now died violently. Another glance at the hostile face before her sent her over the edge, and she began to cry loudly.

Wesker smiled at the display onscreen. Perfect! Sera did not even recognize his own family, and if he did, he still seemed unable overcome his animalistic instincts. Now, if only they could fix the little problem of his near-complete immobility. _And_ there was still that setback that plagued every test subject in this project. But that was why Estella was there. Sooner or later she would crack, he was sure of it. Wesker began writing in a notepad he took from his pocket:

_Sera does not recognize familiars. Should continue as planned; no more doses of solution #35 necessary. Spinal repairs finished within the next 2 days so he is ready for the 17th. Run tests 14A and 23C; steroids may be needed to assist in growth/repair of muscles._

He closed the notepad and stuffed it back into his pocket before taking the microphone before him.

"Miss Sera... if you ever feel the need to tell me what I wish to know, I'm sure you can figure out how to contact me." He then got up and left the room. There was so much to do and so little time to do it!

* * *

April 10th, 2005 

Billy sat up and rubbed his neck stiffly. He didn't even remember falling asleep. One moment he had been sitting cross-legged in front of his coffee table with Rebecca and her friend Brandon, going over piles of papers. Next thing he knew, he felt like he had been hit by a bus. The entire left half of his body was asleep, and he tried to stretch his stiff limbs quietly as he looked at the clock. Last time he had checked, it had been 11:30 or so, and they had already been talking and going over files for a good four hours by then.

_Shit,_ he thought. _2:15._ He had been sleeping, slumped on the floor, for almost three hours. He ventured a look around. Brandon had fallen to his right, his head propped at an odd angle on the armrest of the couch. He still held a paper in his hand. Rebecca had fallen asleep practically on top of him, her head resting on his side. Billy couldn't help but smile slightly at her ruffled appearance: flushed cheeks, several strands of brown hair hanging haphazardly over her face, and a tee-shirt that had rumpled up on one side to expose a flash of pale stomach. He was happy that she was sleeping so soundly, though; for the past week her sleep had been fitful at best. Every night he could hear her tossing and turning, even from his room, and her wordless cries went straight to his heart. She had been a real trooper, though, throwing herself aggressively into the work of uncovering the mystery set before them. The damage had been done, as she said, and now she was going to deal with her choice. Billy couldn't help but feel that her family's fate had been partially _his_ fault, as well. After all, he had originally tried to convince her _not _to go to that ridiculous ball. But there had been no outbursts of emotion after the initial breakdown. Rebecca's work, with the help of her friend Brandon, had been the driving force that kept her sane. He truly had to admire the woman.

Billy sighed. They obviously weren't going to get anything else done for now. She needed to sleep comfortably, but he didn't want to wake her up. Thus, after a brief moment of thought, he decided that for tonight he could sleep on the couch. She would stay in his bed. Standing slowly, with a silent curse at the pins-and-needles feeling that flooded through his leg, he limped to the couch.

Rebecca's ninety-something-pound frame was no problem for the ex-marine to lift, and he did this carefully so as not to awaken her. After all, he had lifted her once in order to save her from dropping into a hole that went to only God knew where... he mused on that incident for a moment as he made his way to his room, enjoying the feel of that woman sleeping safely in his arms. After they both had regained their breath, and Rebecca had lied to her superior about not having found him, she had asked the truth of him. _Did you really kill twenty-three people?_ The question came back to him as clearly as though she had just asked him that day. Her innocence... that willingness to believe whatever he told her. But her inquiry had brought on painful flashbacks, and he had avoided giving a straight answer. He didn't think he could have dealt with exposing her to some more of the world's cruel truths just then. Not when they already had a mansion full of zombies to worry about. Billy couldn't help but shiver at the thought of the mansion, and Rebecca stirred slightly.

They were at his bedside, and he gently laid her down atop the unmade bed. He was reluctant to leave as he watched her sleep. So peaceful, so pure, so beautiful... he was tempted to crawl into bed beside her.

No. Billy was by no means innocent, and with virtually any other woman, he would have thought nothing of getting in bed with her. But Rebecca was different. He would do no such thing, no matter how pure his intentions, without her agreement. Of course she was attractive—_very_ attractive—but that was beside the point. And he couldn't think of the words to describe the feeling he had about this, but he knew she was just... _different_ than any other girl he had known. The feeling in his gut was not so much one of lust, but a sort of overpowering desire to simply be there with her. And that feeling was rapidly growing stronger and more complex. Billy would never have admitted to it, but the ex-marine and all-around tough guy had a very large soft spot.

He was surprised to find his face warm as he pulled a blanket over the girl's prone form. She shifted and smiled faintly in her sleep, and for an instant he was overwhelmed with emotion. His hand moved lightly across her forehead, brushing away wayward strands of hair, and he placed an affectionate kiss there. He made a point of not lingering after the gesture, but simply leaving and returning to the living room with an attempt to keep his mind blank of any sentiments.

Brandon was awake, sitting up on the couch and stretching his neck in an attempt to get rid of what must have been a very painful cramp. He looked up when Billy entered the adjacent kitchen and went to the refrigerator for a beer. When the man came back to his living room, the college student was sorting through papers and absentmindedly placing them in separate piles based on content. Billy took a seat in his rocking chair. There were a few minutes of silence in which Brandon shuffled paper and Billy sipped from the long-necked bottle in his hand.

"She's really something, isn't she?" Brandon finally said. Billy's eyes narrowed at the blond, who was staring down at the files on the coffee table.

"What do you mean?"

"Becca. She's really something." Brandon looked up, staring into the distance for a brief second before meeting Billy's eyes. "I know you agree."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the ex-marine said sullenly. It was of extreme annoyance to him when people could voice his own thoughts better than he could.

"Right. Billy... I've been madly in love with her since I met her. I recognize the symptoms," Brandon said, smiling knowingly. Billy looked away. "Anyways, she's really—she's really a good person. I'll admit I was hurt to find out she was lying to me, but..." he sighed. "You've got one hell of a good chance with her. She obviously adores you. I can tell. So please... um, just be good with her, okay? Don't... don't make her hurt more than she already does." When Billy turned his gaze back on him, he was surprised to see the shine of tears in Brandon's eyes. Now the younger man looked away, giving a humorless chuckle. There was an awkward pause.

"You really don't mind if I stay for the night?" Billy considered kicking him off the couch for a moment, and then shrugged. He could brave the night in his chair.

"Sleeping bag's on the end of the couch."

"Thanks, man." Brandon unrolled the sleeping bag, covered himself, rolled over so he was facing away from his companion, and went silent. Billy finished his beer, but rather than get another, sat in stony silence upon his chair and thought. He finally fell asleep an hour later, the empty bottle tumbling from his hand and rolling along the floor before coming to a halt on one of the papers that had fallen upon the rug.

* * *

Rebecca's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she wondered where on earth she was. The walls of the room were a deep, calming blue. Dim light poured in from a curtained window behind her, showing pieces of high quality but mismatched furniture. A dresser, nightstand, desk with computer... 

_I'm in Billy's room... in Billy's_ bed, she thought, sitting up. "What the heck?" she voiced aloud. Rebecca did not even recall falling asleep the night before. However, the bed was very comfortable so she wasn't about to complain, and she raised her arms over her head to stretch before flopping back onto the pillows. There were two doors set in the wall across from her. The one on the right led to the hallway, the one on the left was for the bathroom. The latter door opened suddenly.

"Thought I heard you," Billy mumbled around his toothbrush. The ex-marine had obviously just gotten out of the shower, if one judged by the amount of steam that billowed from the small bathroom. He stood before her clad only in a pair of blue jeans, hair dripping and uncombed.

"Yeah, I'm awake," she replied. At that moment someone could have thrown a live grenade at her and she would not have done a thing. Rebecca was too busy staring at Billy's shapely body as he leaned against the doorframe and watched her with an amused expression in his eyes. That amusement—the fact that what she was thinking of him must have shown on her face and his obvious pleasure in her flustered expression—snapped her out of her near-slack-jawed stare. "I don't remember falling asleep last night."

"Well, you did. We all did," Billy explained. "I let Brandon sleep on the couch, I took the chair." Rebecca cocked her head and smiled at his display of kindness.

"Thanks." Billy shrugged and went back to brushing his teeth in front of the mirror. Rebecca was unwilling to get up, but her growling stomach finally forced her to rise. She went to the kitchen to look for something to eat, and found Brandon sitting at the table, digging through his backpack. There was a place set for each of them.

"I thought you might miss... these... if I can find them," the blond said, reaching into the very bottom of his bag. "Ah! Tada!" Brandon said as he produced a large, somewhat squished, box of Lucky Charms. Rebecca smiled in delight.

"Of course! I remember the last time we had breakfast together," she bubbled happily. She and Brandon had made it a ritual to have breakfast—Lucky Charms being her favorite kid's cereal—and watch cartoons together almost every Saturday morning. It was childish, maybe, but fun nevertheless. And a great way to forget the cares of the past week. Brandon poured them each a bowl and they began to eat, chattering. Billy entered a moment later, fully clothed in a form-fitting white tee-shirt and hair back in a small ponytail, and silently raised an eyebrow at their antics as he went to make himself some toast.

After Rebecca had seen that the breakfast dishes were put in the sink, the three of them gathered about the coffee table once again. The morning's lighthearted mood gave away to a distinctly gloomy feeling as Brandon brought out the papers from last night. Rebecca was reading, for at least the fifth time, a newspaper clipping regarding the attacks on campus a week previous:

_On the afternoon of April 3rd, the revelation of the violent attacks on several students in the Mid-Town campus of the University triggered an aggressive riot. Four students and two staff members were injured as outraged students stormed the Student Center Building and tried to break into the crime scene in an attempt to have their questions answered._

_"We should have handled this better," University Representative Ryan Brown said. "We told them what happened, but we didn't want to spark a panic, so we didn't give any details. Apparently, that was a mistake."_

_At approximately 10:30 P.M. on the night of April 2nd, an apartment in the Northeast dormitory building was broken into by three heavily armed men, according to witnesses. Security systems had been tampered with and cameras were temporarily out of order, and because of the late hour, there were few students in the halls. The apartment was the home of students Elizabeth Randon, 23, Belle le Meunier, 26, and Becca Coen, 24. Shots were heard, bringing several students out of their rooms. Alex Smith was one of the first on the scene._

_"I ran inside and the place was just shot to hell. The window was broken and I looked outside and there were three men—well, people, I guess, I couldn't tell because they were all wearing these black masks—rappelling down the side of the building. That room is seven stories up, but they got down really fast. There was a vehicle waiting there for them, and they left just like that."_

_When police arrived on the scene, they found Randon dead of severe brain damage due to gunshot wounds. Le Meunier was immediately rushed to nearby Saint Joseph's Hospital in a comatose state, but died shortly after due to severe internal bleeding and organ damage. Coen was not present due to the fact that she has been missing for several days; it is presumed that the intruders had something to do with her disappearance. All witnesses were immediately taken to the police station for questioning and were not released until late the next day. The room was closed off as a crime scene, and armed police officers were posted in every building. Students were told only that the women were attacked, and after a day of not having their questions answered, they rioted._

_"We were tired of being told it was 'being taken care of,'" one of the rioters told _The Herald_. "We wanted to know what had happened and why there were cops everywhere and how much danger we were in." _

_Police and University officials still have no idea what instigated these violent attacks. Efforts to locate Coen have been stepped up, to no avail._

_"We are trying our hardest," Police Chief Mitch Sanders says. "We'll find her and then we have some questions for the guys who did this."_

_When asked if there are plans to strengthen security on campus, Brown is quoted as saying, "I do hate to have so many armed men around. It's frightening for everyone. Rumors have been spread that we're going to try and call in the National Guard for help, and I have to say that even though it's a total rumor, it's appealing. I don't want to put the students in any more danger."_

_A memorial service is to be held next Thursday at Our Lady of Faith church for the murdered women._

"Becca? Are you with us?" Brandon asked. Both he and Billy were staring at her. She carefully placed the clipping on the table.

"Yeah. Sorry." She stared blankly at the picture above the article for a moment: her former home, the doorway cordoned off with yellow tape. She could just see the broken window and bullet holes that peppered the wall. And the bloodstains. Her friends were dead. Her family was missing. She struggled to control herself for a moment.

_Easy,_ she thought. _You know what needs to be done._ She looked back up to the two men who were staring at her intensely. Her face was set in a hard look of determination, her gray eyes cold. "Let's review the facts." Brandon gave a tight-lipped smile.

"Gladly." The blond shuffled through his papers for a moment, looking for a certain page of information he had printed out. "Alright, here they are:

I looked up Chayliss&Rather online, and I found one official website. Nothing else official, just a few stories regarding some donations and charity work they had done, a few mentions of some medical devices they've pioneered, blah blah blah. The site was nothing but a fancy layout and a little message saying that to get in you had to provide your name and five-digit ID number. So I typed in Rebecca Chambers and ran a program that generated every possible five-digit combination and tried it, but you don't have an ID. Obviously. I put Chayliss&Rather into a search engine again, trying to find the name of an employee, but nothing showed up. So I ended up trying it with Mr. Chayliss's name and once again every possible five-digit combo, but nothing. So either he can't get into his own website, or—"

"Or he doesn't exist," interrupted Billy from his rocking chair. Brandon nodded.

"That's what I thought, strange as it sounds. So I tried the name of the guy who wrote up your invite and I had a bit more luck; he got me into the site. But there was nothing there, really. I think it was just set up in case someone somehow got in. There was a list of foundations they had donated to, and an 'official' statement from Mr. Chayliss: 'The Better Tomorrow is almost upon Us.' Which is suspicious, but I have seen weirder.

At the bottom of the page was another place to enter a password of some sort. So I ran my program again, came up with a password, and got myself into another page. This one didn't look anything like the last two, though. It was plain, none of that fancy crap; it didn't even have the Chayliss&Rather logo. Just four links. 'Accounting enter here,' 'Research enter here,' 'Security enter here,' and 'Management enter here.' So, I started with accounting. The fact that Chayliss's secretary was able to get in where he wasn't struck me as bizarre, but what came next was even more suspicious. I'm no accountant by any means, but when I checked the page brought up by 'Accounting,' there was a huge-ass list of old stock market crap that went all the way back to the 1960's. There was other stuff, too, more recent; only as far as I could tell, it was all about how Chayliss&Rather was slowly and secretly getting money funneled into their account from the old accounts and financers of another company. And you had a hunch about who that was, didn't you, Becca?"

Rebecca slowly nodded. "Umbrella." Brandon nodded back.

"Chayliss&Rather was getting all the money from Umbrella's old stock and other accounts. Mind you, after you said your friends helped bring Umbrella down, their stock plummeted and they were basically dead, as far as business went. But there was still all the money made previously that had been kept in secret accounts across the world, and then Umbrella's heads had invested in stock from other companies as well and everything they made off of that was going into Chayliss&Rather's funds too. This made Mr. Chayliss, as you might guess, a very rich man. Funding turned up from every imaginable corner and was being poured into Chayliss&Rather." Billy shook his head slowly.

"So you're just saying that all Umbrella's money is going to this other company, right?" Brandon nodded.

"Every last little bit of it. And that's not the half of the weirdness. I next checked out the 'Security' page. There was a schedule. Looked to me like a work schedule and records for well over fifty people, and I'm going to assume they're guards working at the mansion mentioned in the invitation. Everything was done by initials and ID numbers. There were two team heads, initials of A.W. and J.K. Mean anything to either of you?"

Billy and Rebecca both shook their heads. They had reached the point where they had left off the night before, and both were listening attentively as Brandon told his tale. The previous night they had talked a lot about Rebecca and Billy, who finally explained to the confused hacker what had gone on during the year of 1998. He had been more than a little surprised to learn the truth about his friend.

"Oh well," Brandon said with a sigh before continuing. "Either way, their initials were links, and I followed them. Both required a password, which I found, but the pages that came up didn't seem relevant to anything. Just lists of locations, and some strange numbers. One thing that both of them shared was this place in Spain. I don't remember the name of it, though," he said, digging through his papers. "It seems they were both there at the same time, only doing God knows what. J.K. has a little note next to his name: 'deceased,' but he shows up later, apparently having gone to California for something after he... died." Brandon scratched the back of his head.

"Does it give a cause of death?" Billy asked, his interest suddenly sparked by a fleeting thought that he could quite not place his finger on.

"No. At any rate, that doesn't make any sense to me and I don't think it's really too significant." He searched his papers again until he found the correct one. "Aha. Alright, I then went to Research. This is where I began to worry. Research did not list any specific... experiments, I guess, but it had a few honorary mentions, if I don't say so myself. 'Raccoon City—complete. Failure. Total sanitation necessary; all evidence destroyed. Paris—incomplete. Failure. Interrupted before procedure could be initiated.' Chicago—terminated... New York—terminated... Cairo, Munich, Sydney... all these cities, all of the experiments terminated. I did some research on Umbrella, and after your friends successfully exposed it all their operations went bust and they abandoned labs all over the world. The most recent listing, however, was not terminated. It said, 'Chayliss Mansion Test' and it had a countdown timer. I think Umbrella's been undercover all this time, getting itself back together and getting back to work, and this is some sick experiment and whoever goes to that 'ball' is going to end up a test subject for something," Brandon said. There was dead silence.

That was what Rebecca dreaded. Her idea had been that Umbrella was somehow involved in the whole thing. And after all, if she had been one of the people to help bring the massive enterprise down last time, why would they not take their revenge by tricking her into taking part in their experiment?

"Does it say anything else?" she asked. Her throat was dry, and she forced herself to swallow.

"Well, there's a link to another page called 'New Developments.' Thing is, I can't hack it. I thought my program could crack any password, but apparently it can't." He sighed and his expression made him look like a pouting child. Rebecca nodded.

"Did you check out the 'Management' page?" Billy asked. Brandon nodded and began shuffling through his papers again.

"I don't think you'll be surprised to learn that Chayliss's secretary's password was the one that opened that. I needed another password there... another one I can't quite get to. I'd need more time to work on it. My idea is that there's more than one person using those ID numbers—security personnel for the mansion go to the security page, and they can only see what the head honcho thinks they need to. The accounting department can get to their crap, research can get to what they need, and the manager must control who has all these passes. But he's got a damn good security program running on his page. I think if I can hack that one, I can figure out what's really going down." The three of them went silent for a moment, each deep in thought.

"Our information still has a lot of holes in it, doesn't it?" Rebecca finally asked. Brandon gave her a rueful little smile.

"Unfortunately."

Billy had been sitting quietly, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and rubbing his jaw line with a thumb as he thought. He had an idea. And he had given it a lot of consideration. But what came out of his mouth surprised them all.

"I think we should get a team together and storm the place." Brandon and Rebecca looked at him as though he was insane. "I'm serious. Rebecca, you and me know how Umbrella is. They love their big mansions, and every one of them seems to have a lab underneath. If this company really is Umbrella, or if it's run by the same assholes, then I doubt they'd be able to break that habit. Whoever goes to that fucking ball is in serious danger. And if Umbrella's up to their shit again then we need to take them out before things get out of hand." His voice had taken on a low, harsh tone as he spoke, and his hands clenched into tight fists. His companions stared at him for several moments before Rebecca finally replied, her words hushed and contemplative.

"You know, that might actually be a good idea. Brandon, can you modify your program somehow and get into that website?"

"With pleasure," Brandon replied, digging through his backpack for his laptop. "It might take me a day or two, but I'll try it."

"Good. I want names of everyone who was invited, and I want to know what sort of experiments they're talking about." Brandon nodded and turned on his computer, immediately getting to work. Billy was staring at Rebecca incredulously. He had even thought of his own idea as crazy, and had never expected her to consider the plan.

"So, for this team, who do we have that we can get together?" she asked. Billy thought for a moment.

"I have a few friends from the Marines I think I can count on yet," he answered. She nodded.

"I can try and get in contact with Chris and Barry and Jill again," Rebecca said. "I think they would want to know about this. Hey Brandon, we're going to need a map of the mansion, if you can get one. I should also try to reach the anti-Umbrella team that formed right after the Raccoon City incident."

"Uh huh," he responded, already deep in his work. Billy stood and started for his bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Rebecca asked.

"I'm going to e-mail my people." She nodded and began looking through Brandon's files as if this was no big deal, but he was worried. These people... he hadn't seen them in years. They thought he was dead. He hoped they would have believed him innocent, but... people changed. Billy also didn't know how to explain what he needed. But he had a good idea of who to ask, at least; there were three people that owed him their lives, or at least a considerable favor, and if they ever planned to pay that debt back, this would be a good place to start. Taking a seat before his computer he began to type out a message, though he was not even sure his friends had the same e-mail addresses they had seven years ago. _Maybe they all went and got themselves killed since I left,_ he thought with a touch of grim humor.

So intent on his work was he that he did not even notice when Rebecca shut the bathroom door to shower. But finally, after almost an hour's worth of thought, he had this message to send to his old friend Teri Korger:

_Listen up, Korger. I don't know what you heard about me, but I'm damn sure it's not true. Remember that time back in Africa when I spotted the sniper and pushed you out of his way? I've still got the scar on my own arm if you need a reminder. I need your help now. I can't really explain it, but there's two people here that would do a better job than me. And you're going to have to see some of this shit to believe it, trust me. All you need to know now is that it's a life or death situation. I know it's fucked up for me to appear like this, but nothing about this situation isn't fucked up and I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need it. So what do you say? Willing to help out the man that saved your ass?_

_Coen_

_One down, two to go, _Billy thought.

After he finished sending his e-mails, he sat back down in the living room to wait a while before looking for replies. Rebecca, finished with her shower, had her laptop out now as well, and both she and Brandon were typing away. She gave a frustrated sigh.

"I couldn't get a hold of any of them by phone," she said, holding up Brandon's cell phone. "I didn't use mine cause I was worried someone might be tracking it, but it wouldn't have mattered because they all seem to have changed their numbers. I'm not surprised, though," she said miserably, more to herself than either of the men. "I'm going to try e-mail. Brandon, how's it coming?"

"Tough," he grunted. He then said no more.

By five o'clock that evening, Rebecca was staring blankly at the news on TV. There was a report on the attacks at the college, and she was watching with dull eyes. Nothing new. Brandon was still stationed in front of his computer. He hadn't moved from that spot all day, he was so intent on the task put before him. Billy was buzzed and trying not to nod off in his chair. He had checked his e-mail twice, but nothing yet. All of them were beginning to lose hope. Downing the last of his beer in a single swig, Billy placed the empty bottle among the others on the coffee table and decided to check his messages again.

_Third time's a charm, right?_ he thought as he seated himself in front of his computer. The day had grown windy and gray, and the first drops of a rain shower begin pattering at the windows as he clicked the small envelope icon at the bottom left corner of the screen.

Two new messages.

His heart sped up as he realized who they were from: Teri and another friend, Eliza Black. He opened Teri's first, apprehensively, dreading what he might read.

_Holy shit. I can't believe it. They told me you were fucking _executed_, man... and now you just come back and expect me to help you? You're not even going to explain what the hell you got in trouble for? Fuck. But you're right; I owe you no matter how much you screwed up, and you know I'll help you. Tell me where you're at and I can be there in a few days._

—_TK _

Billy let out a sigh of relief and clicked on the other email.

_Billy_

_For your information, you did not "save my life." I could have survived that grenade, no problem. And did you even know if the pin was pulled? I mean, sure, it exploded when you threw it back, but that doesn't mean a thing. Maybe it was defective. I know what this is about... just cause you're good in bed you think you can go around asking girls favors. Ha._

_Seriously, though—where have you been? I heard they sent you to the chair. No one said why, though. I've missed you; things just haven't been the same without Coen around to screw them up. I can be there as soon as you need me, just tell me where "there" is. By the way, Sam changed his email. I'll get a hold of him for you; I'm sure he'll help. You were planning on asking him, right? And did you get a hold of Teri?_

_Eliza_

A broad grin crept onto his face. Two out of three wasn't bad at all. And that was certainly Eliza, all right. A friend since high school, they'd had their romantic trysts back in the day... but had turned out to be nothing more than good friends. And if Eliza could get a hold of Sam Kowalczyk for him, he felt anything was possible. They were his best friends; the ones he trusted most. It was a shame they had not been there on his last fateful mission. They would have backed him up and he wouldn't have gotten in the mess he did...

_...I also wouldn't have met Rebecca_. His stomach did a flip, but he did his best to ignore it and get to work on his messages. After sending his replies, he made his way to the living room—still grinning like an idiot.

"They said they'll do it," he heard himself say as he entered the darkening room. Rebecca looked up at him from her place on the floor, unable to believe this little bit of good luck. The expression of joy that swept across her face temporarily cleaned away any traces of pain from the last weeks, and Billy smiled a little wider. This was his own first real smile in a long time, as well. Rebecca leaped from the floor and bounded across the room into his arms. She hugged him tightly around the middle, all the while giggling. He let out a short laugh and returned the embrace. But after a moment of rejoicing, he took her shoulders gently and pushed her back to look down into her face.

"Have you gotten a hold of anyone yet?" Her smile faded and she shook her head.

"Changed their e-mail addresses, too. I suppose Brandon could find them for me, but he's busy and I don't want to risk being found out. I have some friends from training I could try to get a hold of, too; I bet—"

"SCORE!" Brandon shouted from the couch. He was smiling and waving his fists wildly in the air. "Take THAT you FUCKERS!" he screamed. Billy frowned at him; they were in an apartment, after all, but Brandon took no notice. He stuck his face in front of the computer screen once more and began reading, and any traces of elation were instantly wiped away. "Becca," he finally said, his voice tight, "you said you knew Chris Redfield, right?"

"Yeah, why?" she asked, moving behind him to peer at the screen.

"Here's a guest list. Look," he said, pointing at the screen.

_Adly, Sheldon_

_-Attending_

_Boudette, Gracelynn_

_-Attending_

_Burton, Barry_

_-Attending_

_Chambers, Rebecca_

_--_

_Dees, Maria_

_-Attending_

_Dees, Sarah_

_-Attending_

_Dees, Thomas_

_-Attending_

_Grasely, Chelsea_

_-Attending_

_Hamilton, George_

_-Attending_

"Hey, I wasn't done yet," Rebecca protested as Brandon scrolled down.

"I know. But I want to check out the other things I got in to. You can look later. But this is what I wanted you to see." He pointed. "'Redfield, Christopher, attending.' Right before 'Redfield, Claire.'"

"His sister," Rebecca said quietly. Brandon nodded absently.

"Are they the only ones you know on this list?"

"No. Right after Claire's name: Kevin Ryman. He was a cop; I met him a few times. And Barry Burton, Jill Valentine... I knew them, too. S.T.A.R.S. members. Um... I met Leon Kennedy once; Sheldon Adly sounds familiar too."

"Noticing a pattern?"

"All of the people I knew were from Raccoon City, or involved in one of the mansion incidents."

"Maybe this is a list of survivors," Brandon said. Rebecca's eyes went wide, but Billy raised an eyebrow.

"Then why isn't my name on the list?"

"You died," both Brandon and Rebecca said, not looking up.

"You started completely over, right?" Brandon said. "You dropped everything that had to do with your old identity?" Billy nodded.

"Borrowed some money from a good friend and ran off. And he died a while ago."

"That's where Becca went wrong," Brandon said. "She was still using her old accounts, taking money out gradually, among other things. I looked her up the other night. An amateur could have done it; that's why Umbrella sent the invite to her original name. They didn't even think your new ID was anything to bother with, it was so easy to see through they must've thought it was a joke or something."

Rebecca frowned. "Well, that's partly to blame on Chris then, not just me." Brandon gave a half-smile at her protest.

"Alright, you can look at this list later. I want to check out the New Developments page. They had some tough shit on this one and I've been working at it all day. I want to see what's up." Both Billy and Rebecca were standing behind the hacker as he typed in the password obtained through a day's worth of programming, trial-and-error, and lots of plain old stubbornness. They were greeted with a plain blue web page, the familiar Chayliss&Rather slogan of "The Better Tomorrow is almost upon Us" the only thing gracing the top of the page. Brandon began scrolling down, entering a password where it was needed, which got them another plain blue page. But this one had no more places to enter any pass. The screen simply showed a blank blue expanse. Brandon frowned in frustration.

"What the hell is this?" he asked. "God damn it! Why won't it work?"

"Let me try something," Rebecca said. She used the finger pad and clicked at the very end of the page, holding the button down as she scrolled up. Highlighted, they could now read the hidden text that was the same color as the background. Brandon grinned foolishly.

"I'm so used to complex codes, I can't figure out a simple thing like this," he apologized. Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder. "Such a last-ditch effort, too... it looks like an address for something," he said, copying the highlighted text and pasting it in the address bar. They reached a page that asked for yet another password, and Brandon picked one from a long list now stored on his computer. The secretary's ID worked once again to get them into a page full of pictures and links to reports. They began reading... and were horrified at what they discovered. Rebecca put a hand to her mouth. Brandon's face went ashen, and Billy shook his head.

"Those sick bastards," he finally said, disgusted. "I can't believe it, I just can't believe what they're going to try and do... what they're going to use those people for..." he muttered. "What they wanted to use you for. Again." His voice was soft, and both he and Brandon watched as Rebecca's petite form began to tremble. Billy covered her small, cold hand with his own and held it tightly. The blue glow of the screen cast an eerie pallor over her face and she closed her eyes.

"Brandon... thank you so much. I think it might be better now if you went home and forgot you ever saw me." Her voice trembled, but Brandon nodded.

"I was never here." He hastily began packing his things, excluding his computer, and before leaving he instructed her on how to use his program if she wished to do further research.

"I'm sorry, but I think I've put you in danger," she said, hugging him tightly before he left.

"I'd do anything for you. You know that." Rebecca smiled at him sadly.

"Please be careful," she said as he went to the door.

He winked in response. "Don't you worry, little lady."

Little did she know, that would not be nearly enough to keep him safe.

**

* * *

**

"You've got to be kidding me." A woman with unruly, chin-length chocolate-brown hair shook her head. As she crossed her arms under her chest, the charms on her lengthy necklace jingled. She gave a frown.

"No, I'm not. I swear, Lynn, you'll be gorgeous. This is a formal thing, and black is so chic. We're going to do this right, get you new make-up and contacts and everything..."

"Erik! I can't wear that dress, it's so... _dressy._ I don't do dressy. And besides... it's sleeveless. You know I don't go for anything sleeveless, either." Her protests sounded weak even to her own ears.

"We can get you a wrap, or something."

"But—"

"Gracelynn! Stop arguing. This is a _formal_ event and I'm going to see to it that you dress accordingly, for once. _For-mal_," Erik said, placing emphasis on each syllable with a smack to her forehead with his open palm. "Besides. It's a gorgeous dress, so classic. You _know_ you love it."

The young woman frowned. Her friend was right, as much as she hated to admit to this. The dress was a floor-length number, of the darkest black, and made with a shimmery material that rustled when she tugged on the skirt. The off-the-shoulder straps were made of sheer black material that draped elegantly over the shoulders of the mannequin and about the low neckline, gathering right above the bust, where the folds were pinned with a simple brooch that was either the largest diamond Gracelynn had ever seen, or a very good imitation. The skirt was full, and the entire thing reminded her of Belle's yellow ball gown from Beauty and the Beast, her favorite childhood movie. The dress had such a classic look to it. Beautiful. She considered the evening gown upon the mannequin for a moment before heaving a sigh.

"And you were serious when you said you would pay for this all?"

"Honey, my uncle just died and left me a pile of cash. I'm almost rich! And besides, if it means I can get you in a dress—" Lynn punched his arm.

"Your rich uncle died and all you care about is the money?"

"He was a prick anyways. Mom said after he found out I was gay he was going to cut me out of his will, but he died the next day." Lynn smiled up at her best friend and roommate. After the breakup with her last boyfriend—which had been difficult beyond belief; she'd had a relapse into depression—he had been there for her nonstop. He'd even offered her a room of his spacious apartment after her ex made her leave. And now he was playing the part of fashion expert, helping her buy a dress for the upcoming ball... she appreciated the help, because both of them knew she would have gotten lost looking for one by herself.

"Alright, that's settled. Excuse me!" Erik called, pointing at a saleswoman to get her attention. "We'll be taking this one; can you hold it for us while we run down the street to get shoes?" The woman nodded.

"Erik, that one on the mannequin isn't going to fit me."

"Oh, please; you're a lot skinnier than you make yourself look with all those layers you wear. Now, let's find you some shoes. I think we can go to Storrie's down the street," he said, grabbing her hand.

Upon entering the well-lit and obviously expensive boutique, Erik let out an excited "Ooh!" and led her to a display.

"These... are... perfect!" Lynn gave him a blank stare.

"Erik. I'm five-eight. Those shoes have five-inch heels."

"So? They're amazing."

"I don't want to be over six feet," she said forcing the shoe from him. In her opinion, the heel seemed sharp enough to be used as a weapon—or in the very least, a creative can opener.

"But guys love tall girls!" he protested.

"How would you know?" She got a grumble in response.

A half hour's time had them settled on a pair of "reasonable" three-inch heels that matched Lynn's dress nicely. She attempted to walk in them, but managed only five wobbly steps before tripping over an exposed electrical cord and falling to her knees.

"Well, we have a week to work on this," Erik said with a sigh. "Now, let's get these and go buy your dress. We've got a lot left to do today."

* * *

Late that same night, Gracelynn lay in bed. Her thoughts eventually drifted to the upcoming ball. Chayliss&Rather, according to the invitation she had been sent, was a leading developer of new technology and was always on the lookout for new talent in their advertising department. She was a year short of finishing school for a degree in graphic design and had thus far found some occasional odd work as a freelance ad artist. But this could be her chance to meet someone who could really get her career started! She planned to bring a portfolio of her best work, just in case. Lynn rolled onto her back and attempted to clear her mind of those hopeful thoughts so she could sleep. 

She turned her head to the side, where a beam of moonlight slipped in between the curtains and turned her exposed arm a deep cream color. The limb was criss-crossed with a network of long, thin scars, as was the other arm still under her blankets. They appeared as a sort of thick spider web or bizarre road map, the newest lines a product of the relapse after her breakup. Even those were over a year old, but they showed clearest of all. Therein lay the reason she worried about the lack of sleeves on her dress. The inevitable questions were nearly unbearable; yet at the same time, she felt a sick sense of pride when ever someone nearby set him or herself to discreetly studying her bare arm. She took to wearing long-sleeved shirts under her other clothes to avoid both the questions and that perverse love of attention. Best to battle the demons down and face them another day.

Lynn tucked her arm in close to her body and was asleep within seconds.

_A tall, sixteen-year-old brunette pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear nervously as she stepped into her home. Nobody seemed to be there. The silence actually _hurt_, cutting into her senses like a dull knife and leaving a deep rift in her anxious mind that she couldn't think around. There should not have been silence; this was one of the weeks when her divorced parents' shared custody situation regulated that her three younger siblings joined she and her three-year-old half-sister at their mother's house. Hell, if anything, silence should have been _welcomed_. But not this silence. Not the death-quiet that filled each room and hit her like wave after wave of pounding water as she opened the door._

_A moment of blind panic took her as she realized that the house was dark as well. Outside, the storm clouds covering the sun made the hazy air dim, but inside, there was a pitch-blackness unexplainable. And it was hot, much hotter than even the eighty-five-degree humidity outside. She groped for the light switch. There was a pained groan from the direction of the living room as light filled the home._

_"Alyssa? Is that you?" the girl stepped forward hesitantly, relieved to find that someone else was there, confused and slightly frightened at the circumstances. After all, today had been anything but normal._

_"Lynn... shut off the light," a young girl said, her voice thick. Gracelynn was shocked to find her younger sister covered in blankets, shaking, soaked in sweat. Every curtain was shut and the thermometer registered at ninety-five. Alyssa let out another groan as Lynn clamped a hand to her forehead and gasped._

_"You're burning... fucking _burning_," she said, drawing her hand away from the inferno that was her sister._

_"I'm cold," the younger girl said, eyes squinting to see her older sister's face clearly. "The light... sounds... they hurt," she muttered through dry, swollen lips._

_Realizing that turning the heat down would only make her sister suffer more, Gracelynn removed her tee-shirt and stood before the sick girl in a black tank top, pondering what to do. Sweat trickled town her neck; this was due to the fact that the thermostat was set so high, but to her it seemed as if the heat emanated from the sick young girl herself. She chewed at her bottom lip in thought. Their mother and siblings weren't home yet, hadn't called... she would have to try and bring her sister's fever down herself. If her temperature didn't fall, she may have to call the hospital._

...Hospital?_ she thought, a moment of clarity seizing her. Gracelynn's hand rose to her flushed face and pressed over her mouth. _Oh God... the hospital. _Why hadn't she thought of that? _

_...Because it was too horrible to bear thinking of._

_"Alyssa, I'm going to take off your blankets. Deal with it for a moment." She ripped the covers from her sister and tossed them to the floor. The young girl let out a hair-raising wail and then dissolved into shaking, hiccupping tears. Her sister ignored her for a moment and frowned, not immediately spotting what she expected... there! Upon the arm closest to the couch, half-hidden under a partially rolled up sweatshirt sleeve, was a cloth bandage. Blocking out her sister's cries of protest, the elder girl attempted to pull the sleeve up. Alyssa suddenly kicked out with such force that Gracelynn stumbled back into a chair, eyes wide._

_"Alyssa!"_

_"Back off," the girl growled, voice raspy. "It... it hurts." She began moaning again, giving an agonized cry as she turned into the couch and cradled her arm. Her older sister stared, half angry, half ready to burst out in tears. She noticed a pair of scissors sitting on a nearby desk, and she took them to the couch._

_"Alyssa." This time, her voice was gentle, thick with forced comfort. "I need to see. I'll cut your sleeve so it doesn't hurt." Her sister slowly turned over, eyes shining with tears. The sleeve was cut away to reveal a bandage stained with blood and sickly yellow fluid. The flesh around the bandage had a pale, soft look, as though the young girl's arm had been soaked in a tub of water for too long._

_"It was just sort of itchy before," Alyssa said groggily._

Itching... uncharacteristic behavior... rotten look to wounds... injuries that won't stop bleeding..._ Gracelynn ran through the symptoms she had been taught of the epidemic rampaging through the area lately. Earlier that week there had been a massive assembly in the auditorium of her high school where they had all been taught the tell-tale signs of the deadly new virus. Several people she knew had been hospitalized due to such symptoms. And now..._

_"Oh... oh _fuck_," she stammered as the bandage upon her sister's arm fell away. The stench that rose from the wound was more stifling than the heat of the house, and she forced herself not to throw up as she began to retch. A sort of resigned look settled over her sister's face, and the girl closed her eyes before taking a deep breath and speaking carefully._

_"It wasn't this bad when the nurse saw it."_

_"What happened?"_

_"A dog. On the way to school." Gracelynn stopped her examination of the wound._

_"You mean after I—"_

_"Yeah." There was a horrible second in which Gracelynn realized how truly foolish that morning's argument had been. Their fight hadn't been worth kicking her sister out of the car and making her walk... not worth _this

_"I'm sorry," she finally managed. She bent her head lower under the pretense of studying the wound so that Alyssa would not see her face contorted in a tremendous effort not to cry._

_"It's all right."_

_"Isn't the nurse supposed to send you to the hospital to make sure you don't have rabies or... something?"_

_"There were already seven other kids when I got there. And more came... she wrapped it up and told me she would call me back down when she had time cause some of them were pretty sick. And then school got called off. Besides, she said it looked like a normal dog bite, wasn't too deep..." her sister gave half a smile and closed her eyes. Speaking coherently seemed to require tremendous effort on her part._

_"Yup. Normal dog." Gracelynn returned the smile, even though her sister's eyes were shut. The wound was still trickling blood, though there seemed to be no blood left in the girl's arm to bleed. She could just make out make out the dog's tooth marks upon the inflamed flesh. Yellow pus had dried around the shallow punctures, but was still oozing from places where the pressure of the swelling had simply ripped the weakening skin. The smell reminded Gracelynn of when the Intro Anatomy class down the hall from her own Biology classroom had spent a week dissecting human hands. Here, though, there were no rubbery fumes of formaldehyde to assure her that the person was dead and would feel no pain. Her sister was, after all, still breathing, no matter how shallowly._

_The only bandage big enough in the house to re-dress Alyssa's injury was a stretchy cloth one the family usually used for sprained ankles or wrists. Gracelynn paused to consider a tube of antibiotic, but grabbed a fresh bottle of rubbing alcohol and several towels instead and dashed for the living room._

_"This got infected really fast," she said firmly to the half-conscious girl. Her strong hope that a mere infection was the cause of the problem made her voice calm. "This is... well... hold on."_

_Alyssa, having grown up and gone through numerous cuts, scrapes, and accidents with that phrase, used her good right hand to clutch her sister's bare upper arm with all her strength. Gracelynn placed a towel under the injured limb, uncapped the alcohol bottle, and with a grimace began to pour. She gritted her teeth as the young girl screamed and squeezed her arm, but continued douse the wound in the clear liquid. Her eyes widened momentarily as bits of flesh began detaching as the fluid gushed over them. _

_Once that painful task had been completed, she patted the girl's arm dry and wrapped the wound—this proved difficult because the chunks of skin that fell off at her touch were much larger than those removed by the alcohol. She wondered if Alyssa could even feel that, or if she was choosing to pretend she couldn't._

_"Alright." Gracelynn's voice was still certain. Despite the symptoms, despite the horrible things that had happened more and more often in the past few weeks, she had hope. Infections could get bad in a few hours, she had read... and some spider bites caused flesh to decay and burst just as her sister's had. Maybe she had been bitten by a spider without realizing? Besides... of all the people taken to the hospital in the last few days none had returned. That simply couldn't happen to her sister; she was sure everything would be fine. Her mother would come home soon, take proper care of Alyssa, and she would heal within a few days._

_"Water," the girl on the couch croaked. Her blankets now remained off; apparently she was hot. "Too warm... need water. Hungry."_

_"I'll get you water," Gracelynn said, rushing to turn down the thermostat. "No food now. Not till you feel better."_

_When she put the glass of water into her sister's outstretched, sweaty palm with the advice to take small sips only, she was surprised at the rate at which the water disappeared. "More," the young girl gasped, letting the glass fall to the floor. Her eyes were clamped shut, hands alternately gripping and letting go of the sofa material in some sort of unknown agony. Her face was wet and pale. "Food."_

_"Yeah." Gracelynn picked up the glass and made her way to the kitchen, throwing a glance over her shoulder. What else was she supposed to do, other than care for the girl as best she could until her mother came back?_

_She glanced at the phone, sitting discreetly in its cradle. Her sister needed help. Or at the very least, Gracelynn needed to know how to take care of her. She picked up the handset and, hesitantly, began to dial. 911 was not a number she often called willingly; in fact, she avoided calling if she could. But now she waited anxiously as she listened to the ringing on the other side._

Odd_, she thought after several rings. _They usually pick up sooner, don't they?_ After seven rings, however, a weary-voiced operator answered._

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

_"My sister is... well, she was bitten by a dog, and it's really infected."_

_"Infected." The operator seemed bored, as though she had heard this too many times and was quite ready to call it quits._

_"Well, yeah. I got home and she had a really high fever and she's got a nasty bite on her arm that keeps leaking blood and this pus-like stuff, and—"_

_"What steps have you taken?"_

_"I put alcohol on it and wrapped it up."_

_"Alcohol."_

_"Um... yes." The tone in the female operator's voice made Gracelynn embarrassed that she had never taken a first-aid class._

_"I see. And when was she bitten?"_

_"About two or three hours ago, maybe."_

_"Do symptoms include any of the following: itching, a bad odor about the wound, excessive bleeding, thick and milky fluid discharge, blackening of the wound, unusually pale skin, flesh that seems to fall apart on contact, hot and cold flashes, sudden hunger or thirst, disorientation, loss of motor functions, speech, sight, shallow breathing, and high fever?" The phrase was more a statement than question, and her tone of voice was automatic._

_"Yeah, almost all that." Gracelynn's heart sped up as she heard a long, shallow gasp from the living room, but she stayed rooted to her spot._

_"How long ago, did you say?"_

_"Almost three hours! Now please, I don't know what to do, can you send an ambulance or something?"_

_"No." That was the equivalent of a nasty punch to the stomach._

_"I don't... what?"_

_"No," the woman repeated calmly, using the same bored, seen-it-all-before monotone. Her voice was patient and practiced; obviously she had much experience explaining this to panicked people of late._

_"Why?"_

_"I'm sorry ma'am, but all our ambulances are currently in use. The patrol cars are out as well, though I can add your name to the waiting list—"_

_"I don't have time to wait! What about... other towns, or something? Can't someone send help?"_

_"I'm sorry ma'am. All options have been discussed, and those in higher positions of authority have ruled that it wouldn't be practical." Gracelynn stared blankly at the tile counter in front of her. This was simply... impossible._

_"What should I do?" The voice she used was quiet, restrained. She was too shocked to say anything else. The woman's voice took on a tone that was almost sympathetic._

_"Get out of there. Find a safe place to stay." There was quiet, and then, "God bless." The dial tone sounded as the woman on the other end hung up. Gracelynn gently returned the phone to its cradle and stared at the receiver as though it would bite her._

All busy. How is that even possible? How bad is this fucking virus... cult... thing? _She instantly reprimanded herself. Her sister had some sort of bad infection. Not the death-plague that made people insane and, as was rumored, turned them into psycho cannibals of the sort that had prowled the woods earlier that month. She would carry her sister to the damn hospital. They would just have to make room for her._

Wait... the car!_ Gracelynn nearly laughed at herself. She could pack her sister into her car and take off. The girl quickly jotted a note to her mother, in case the rest of the family returned while they were gone._

_"Alyssa, I'm going to take you to the hospital," she said, re-entering the room. "I left mom a note so—" she stopped cold, mid-sentence, at the site of her sister sprawled upon the couch. The girl's eyes stared at the ceiling, the dim light of the overhead fixture reflecting off the frosted-glass orbs that no longer moved. The wounded arm was draped over her stomach; her other hand clutched at the couch cushion. Her mouth was slack, overly pale lips parted slightly. The sweatshirt-clad chest no longer rose. Gracelynn knelt at her side, eyes wide in indescribable dread and disbelief._

_"Alyssa. Stop playing around." She poked the girl in the side, snatching her finger away quickly when her sister's flesh gave too easily. "Alyssa... fuck, come on!" Hot tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away. "Stop it! Come on... it's not funny..." She set her head upon the girl's chest, unable to stop the frightened tremors that wracked her body as she waited for the stupid child to breathe. Gracelynn was convinced she was holding her breath. The dead-fish eyes were only a trick of her strained mind..._

_Five minutes later and she ceased listening for a breath. She sobbed noisily over her dead sibling's body._

_"Fuck!" she screamed, sitting back on her knees. In a sudden and violent outburst, she grabbed the thing nearest—a toy truck—and threw it into a wall. Her rage did not end there; she picked up a nearby wooden bat that had been left out by one of her brothers and swung hard at a bookshelf unfortunate enough to be close. Books, framed pictures, and various trinkets flew as the wooden shelf splintered on impact. She watched, suddenly startled, as the cracked and lopsided bookcase toppled over. Gracelynn paused for a brief second, as if unsure what had happened, and then resigned herself to weeping as she sank to the floor. The bat slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor as she cradled her knees in her arms._

_She had no idea how long she sat prone, her mind completely blank; she only knew that time seemed to jerk forward. When she next looked up the clock told her it had been almost twenty minutes. Gracelynn felt as though only a few seconds had gone by._

_What had made her look up, anyways? Ah... that noise. A wordless sort of vocal sigh that issued from the couch. She frowned, stumbling to her feet as she sniffled and wiped her eyes._

_"Alyssa... is that you?" A grunt, and it was easy to tell that something on the couch moved. A heavy thud. Gracelynn assumed that somehow, her sister's body had fallen off the couch._

_"Alyssa?" the name caught in her throat; she was afraid to speak it because she might or might not have gotten a response. However, as the form of a child rose from the other side of the couch, everything she had learned from the Outbreak Awareness Seminar melted from her thoughts. "Alyssa!" she exclaimed, stepping forward. "You must have passed out. I thought you were... dead; stupid me, I—" her joyful rambling was cut off by a noise that could not possibly have come from her sister. The sound she heard was the guttural, throaty rasp of a starved and crazy dog before the pounce._

_"Alyssa?" She took a step back, her foot crunching the broken glass of a picture frame as she did so. The pale girl advanced, dragging her feet on the carpet, arms limp. She was studying her older sibling with those wide, milky eyes_

(_dead_ eyes)

_as though she had never seen a human being before. A clumsy dragging foot caught on a couch leg, and Gracelynn could not help but automatically reach out and catch her as she pitched forward. The younger girl instantly lunged for the nearest bit of flesh, narrowly missing as Gracelynn stepped back and pushed her away. Her teeth caught on the fabric of her sister's tank top, tearing a jagged hole near the bottom. Her footing still lost and balance off-center, Alyssa fell forward. Gracelynn took another step back, nearing the wall. However, her sister did not move._

_"Alyssa?" The elder girl's voice shook with alarm, and when her sister remained motionless, she took a tentative step forward... and the seemingly lifeless girl began to drag herself along the floor. With a frightened scream, Gracelynn backed away. Alyssa clawed her way to her feet, inching toward her sister, who was rapidly finding herself backed into a corner. The child made a sudden leap, and bracing against the wall, Gracelynn kicked her away._

Oh God, why is this happening? There is no way... fuck... what can I do can I save her? Why? She can't be doing this there is no way in hell...

_"Alyssa, stop!" Her shout was frantic as her sister lurched to her feet once more. The child took no notice; she simply found her balance and jumped again. Gracelynn dove clumsily out of her way and Alyssa slammed into the wall. Several hanging pictures fell on and around the attacking girl._

The bat.

_Alyssa was gaining her feet again, not seeming to notice the_

pick up the bat oh God don't make me do this

_torn area on her forehead from a fallen picture frame. She staggered forward again, _

please don't make me I cant hurt her

_teeth bared, and Gracelynn ducked lightly out of her way. The bat she'd used to destroy the bookcase was hardly inches away, and her fingers closed on the wooden object as Alyssa made another clumsy dive. The child was snarling, eyes glazed over, saliva dripping from her open mouth and blood thickly falling from the wound upon her head._

_The eyes... it was those goddamned dead fish's eyes that made Gracelynn realize she would never have her sister back. Those fucking glazed-over, fog-filled eyes, no trace of the former warm, light brown they had been... but cold, dead, and alien. They were the last thing Gracelynn saw before she swung the bat, screaming—_

"ALYSSA!" Gracelynn woke to the sound of her own horrified voice. Her entire body shook violently; sweat dripped onto her cheeks and followed the tracks made by her tears.

"Oh... oh God," she whispered pitifully before letting out a choked sob. The room lit up as Erik charged in, half-clothed and fully awake. She looked up at him, sitting in a shoulders-hunched, defeated position that he knew all too well.

"I dreamed again," she managed.

"Yeah, I thought so... oh honey, shh, calm down now. I'm here." The tall young man sat at her bedside and took her into his arms.

**

* * *

**

Leon was alone; therefore when he awoke to his own cries of terror, he had no one to soothe him. So, after calming himself enough to find his lamp and illuminate the room, he stumbled out of bed. The man ran a weary hand through his pillow-tangled hair as he made his way to the kitchen.

_Damn..._ Not including the months after Raccoon City and the week after he had watched "Jaws" as a kid, these last few days had gotten him the worst sleep he'd ever had.

As the agent reached in his refrigerator for a can of Pepsi, he found himself thinking of Estella. She played a role in his dream now as well: he carried her dead body with him as he searched the streets for a way out, before Luis showed up. Remembering her presence mere days before made the house seem too quiet.

"...Fuck it." Leon reached further back into the fridge and brought out a can of beer. Heavy drinking was a habit he had forced himself out of after Raccoon. That vice was trying to creep back up on him since his mission in Spain and he'd been trying to repress it, but one couldn't possibly do him any harm after a dream like that.

_Besides,_ he reasoned as he flipped the tab back and took a long, burning swallow, _at least I've left the vodka under my bed alone for a long time now._

Music. That was what he needed. Something he probably would never have admitted to in male company was his love of Sarah McLachlan's voice and the comfort it gave him. He had several of her albums on his computer, and he began humming his favorite tune softly as the machine booted up. As the first piano chords washed over him he let out a relieved little sigh, simultaneously feeling both ridiculous and comforted.

With nothing better to do, he moved the mouse to his e-mail icon. The agent had few nearby friends, Claire and Chris Redfield kept in rather irregular contact with him, and only occasionally did a family member send a message. Thus, Leon was surprised to find an email from an unknown address that didn't appear to be an advertisement of some sort. He clicked the subject-less mail, apparently sent from a library. As he read, his mouth worked to form a word of some sort, but even that basic skill escaped him as he read again:

WATCH YOUR BACK.

His eyes rook the note in once more, hardly glancing at the reminder at the bottom of the message in place of any signature that told him he would be unable to send a reply. He read it another time and, of course, the message stayed the same. "Watch your back."

As he stared blankly at the screen, his song ended and the next track on the play list began: "Adia." He continued to gape, the change in song barely registering until his weary mind caught something. Leon listened closer to the familiar lyrics and after a moment, his head shook in total disbelief.

"I don't believe it. No fucking way." He had an idea of the sender. It was just too much of a coincidence... eerie, really. The similarity between the names... the reason the song had caught his ear in the first place! And who else could it possibly be?

"_Well, if it isn't the bitch in the red dress."_

Krauser's sneering voice came to him so clearly that he jumped.

_What the fuck._

"Ada... what the hell do you mean?"

Leon stared at the message upon his screen a moment longer. Suddenly, the vodka under his bed seemed very inviting.

* * *

Next Chapter: Plans for an impossible rescue... despair and uncertainty... an inescapable passion. Arrival and a long-awaited event. 


End file.
